


Rumpelstiltskin - 101

by FantasyPrincess



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, OUAT - Freeform, Rumpelstiltskin's Interactions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyPrincess/pseuds/FantasyPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These stories will explore Rumpelstiltskin's relationships with those around him.  Focusing mainly on Belle but I hope to bring in more characters as the stories progress...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Belle and Rumpelstiltskin Beginnings - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Belle in this story knows how to run a household, both through being primed for marriage and Rumpelstiltskin's instructions. UPDATED - I have a beta now! All chapters are being adjusted and re-posted, as well as the additions of new chapters.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle grows accustomed to her duties and finds that neglect does not have to be a part of forever.

Rumpelstiltskin was not a mean master – not exactly.  The first few days of Belle’s servitude mostly consisted of tutorials.  Once his expectations were clearly established, he would leave her dungeon unlocked so that she could perform her duties.  Since the incident of the chipped cup, she had known he wasn’t evil, at least not for sport.  He was kind, if that was the word for it, much in the way that some farmers ignored they’re livestock until they had a need for them.

Even after weeks of serving him, he was still hard to look upon.  Belle understood that it likely wasn’t his fault, but she was uncomfortable nevertheless.  She was never fond of looking at anyone, anyway; things like that led to conversations, during which she would have to feign interest, be witty and seem invested in their lives, when the truth was she much preferred the solitude of a good book by the fire over any real companionship.  How many nights had she achingly been dragged into tiresome conversations with Gaston about the wedding, the last battle he’d fought in, the hunting party and the game they had retrieved?

She couldn’t recall any pleasurable evenings with anyone in which the discourse had consisted of chattering about nonsense.  Her tutors who were saddled with the task of preparing her for wifely duties and appearances at court (should she ever attend), were very clear that she oughtn’t avoid or refuse a conversation, regardless of topic.  Being forced into the position of having to speak was appalling. 

Thankfully, her master was pleasant enough and hardly concerned with trivial conversations.  She knew her tales of Rumpelstiltskin, or the Dark One as he was more commonly called when her father was a boy.  Being a magical trickster, and a powerful one, she couldn’t imagine what kind of strange horrors he would discuss and so was very grateful to be kept ignorant.  Because of this, for the first few months she avoided him as much as she could, except of course for meals.

Rumpelstiltskin always took his meals on the large table in the great hall, despite having countless other less excessive tables at his disposal, (she should know, she polished them all).  Sometimes Belle wondered if he simply enjoyed watching her walk the length of that long table, carrying the tray for his breakfast, and then scurry away to devour the scraps of meals she kept for herself in the kitchen.  She always kept her head down and murmured a little, “if it please you” when she placed the food in front of him.  He remained very still, with that frozen smirk on his face, and though she dared not look up, she could feel it glaring at her.  She would then hastily march back to the kitchen for her own meager rations without another word to her master.

* * *

Round a fortnight after the deal was struck, Belle awoke to find herself exhausted.  Her body felt as solid as iron in her bed and it took her quite some time to get up and embrace the day.  She had been spending long hours into the night, thinking on her situation, where she was, who she served.  Shaking the sleep from her limbs, she continued to reflect. 

Rumpelstiltskin gave her the stunning opportunity to get out of the life everyone else expected her to lead.  Yet, before she chose this life for herself, Belle was treated like a piece in a game of Chaturanga.  She knew the game, watching her father play with tradesmen who came to visit their home.  Betrothals and marriage were something to be expected of a young maiden.  Since she was very small, she could see herself being moved into strategic positions in a game she never entirely understood.

This life was not like the heroics she often read about.  Regularly, the hero, usually a highborn man from one royal house or another, would do some valiant effort, survive many a trial, and the story would suddenly end with everyone living happily ever after.  She knew her fate was less kind, but she also knew she’d done the right thing, the heroic thing. 

She couldn’t deny her life had become harder than it ever was before.  When she originally agreed to come with him to the Dark Castle, she comforted herself with the knowledge that she had saved her village.  Now, in the harsh light streaming into her room, she yawned, reconsidering her place in her own story.  She thought back on everything she’d done since her arrival at the Dark Castle.  She could hardly believe she had accomplished so much in such a short amount of time. 

Descending the stairs, she was finally able to begin her chores for the day.  After dusting of the tall shelves at the back of the great hall, and cooking his early morning meals, she turned to the clothing he’d worn out from two days of travelling the countryside.  Belle knew not where, but the thorns in his clothes were sharp and must have bothered him.  It had taken her two solid hours of scrubbing and poking and prodding before they even resembled his fine fabrics again.  She oiled and perfumed them to his liking and hung them outside of his chambers, as was his preferred custom.  He never let her into his chambers; he said that he could take care of one rooms worth of cleaning all by himself, thank you kindly, and that there were secrets in there that would hurt her dearly.  She supposed he didn’t want to have to find a new caretaker so soon.

It was this chilly afternoon and her eyes were beginning to droop when she remembered she had to begin preparing his supper.  She hung up his newly laundered clothes and heard from behind the closed door the sound of him singing.  He didn’t often sing, unless one counted when he spoke melodically sometimes, looking for weakness of character in those he tricked.  But she could hear him now, and it was a lovely tune, too.  It reminded her of a minor keyed lullaby her nursemaid used to hum to her when she’d had a nightmare.  It had been such a long time since she’d heard anything like it, she closed her eyes, leaning on the door frame a bit, almost being lulled to sleep on the spot.

Suddenly he paused.  Belle thought for the briefest of moments that she would be caught, and that he’d surely have no choice but to punish her.  She was frozen, without the will to escape; as her first fears returned again tenfold.  But then through the door came the sound of sobbing – muffled, Belle supposed, by his hands – hitched now and again as his breath caught in his throat.

She was unable to stray from the spot for different reasons this time, unwilling to move, unable to breathe.  She didn’t want him to suffer, not really.  After all, hadn’t he saved her village?  Wouldn’t she be here forever?  Wasn’t this life what she had chosen all on her own, and hadn’t he provided her with the best opportunity she would likely ever see?

Having one of the most feared beings in the land sobbing in the next room was so strange she didn’t know how to react.  Should she flee?  Was he the kind to get angry if she intervened and tried to console him?  Was he even aware of her at the door at all?  He always seemed to know exactly where she was, so was this an invitation, a reaching hand, begging for someone to comfort him?

Eventually she determined that it would be safer if she quietly slipped away and made her way down to the kitchens.  Even if he would be mad about her not coming in, she could simply reply with, “You’ve always said that your bed chambers were off limits.  I had assumed it was a test; have I passed?” and perhaps they would joke about it.  He did have quite a sense of humor when he wanted to. 

She reached the kitchen at a bit of a run, disoriented from her flight down the spiral stairs, struggling to get her bearings.  “Keep it together, Belle.  Just breathe slowly.”

In a distracting flurry of activity, she set about the task of cooking dinner.  It would be late, she thought with a groan.  She’d never been late in serving him anything.  She had always done her best to, at the very least; keep him from finding any real fault in her.  He might criticize her for imagined slights, but Belle knew in her heart that she had not, up until that day, truly disobeyed.

When she would usually have brought out his tray, she sheepishly appeared from behind the door connecting the great hall and the kitchen.  Rumpelstiltskin looked up when he realized Belle hadn’t brought him his meal, giving her his typical unsettling smile, with no trace of his earlier grief.  His eyes weren’t even red but then again, he was a master of magic and the master of his own home – surely he wouldn’t want to appear vulnerable to her.

She was pleased to note that he didn’t seem keen to address what had happened.

“I’m sorry, the food is taking longer to prepare than usual,” she said.  “I hope to have it ready immediately.”

Rumpelstiltskin gave a curt little nod and folded his hands and rested his chin upon them, patiently waiting for his meal. 

She bowed her head and turned.  _What was she doing?_   While stirring the soup that was his first course, her mind began racing.  _Why was she trying to please him?_   Doing a good job was one thing, but she realized she cared what he thought.  She wanted him to praise her work and enjoy her company.  Was this because she knew he had a sad secret – she knew he could cry? Was she really so vain that she thought she could help him with anything?

“Belle, get a hold of yourself.”

“Indeed you should, dearie, that soup looks perfectly fine from where I’m standing.”  Rumpelstiltskin was too close to her even though he was barely draped in the doorway, amused with her babbling to herself. 

“Oh, Rumpelstiltskin –“ She was about to say _you frightened me_ but bit her tongue instead.  “You are so very right.  Just give me a moment.”

He watched her as she set up his tray for the soup and ladled in a goodly amount of the vegetables, fresh herbs and meats for his hearty first course.  He giggled to himself with glee when the aromas reached his nostrils and his stomach rumbled in anticipation.

He realized watching Belle, how little he ever came down here; he wanted her to have free reign of something without the terrible monster breathing down her neck.  But something about her voice when she’d come up to the dining hall before gave him pause, and he had felt he should check on her.  _She does seem frazzled_ , he thought. 

Soon Belle had his tray made ready and was in the same attitude as always, head bent, only this time she was attempting to walk past him and noticed he was blocking her path.

“Y’know dearie,” he began with that ridiculous smile.  “I can’t help but notice you haven’t left much food for your own portion.  Feeling ill at all?”

“No, that’s how much I always eat.”

Rumpelstiltskin clicked his tongue and squealed a quick giggle.  “Tell me, are you tired today?”

“Only just today,” she explained, as even the tray she held was becoming a burden.  She stood as straight as she could, refusing to show fatigue.

With a flick of his wrist, one handed, Rumpelstiltskin whisked the tray out of her hands and brought it back over to the stove.  He took one of the other bowls, slightly larger than the one she had prepared for him and filled it with whatever remained of the broth and dregs of her fine soup.  He then swapped the bowls, leaving the larger but thinner of the two on his own tray.  When Belle began to protest, he insisted, waving his hands with a flourish, and muttering that she should have her fill of whatever she’d laid out for him. 

“You see, I don’t always need to be on my feet, but I’m afraid you lack my constitution.”  He giggled again, taking her at the waist like he did that first day they met, and leading her to the small wooden stool she kept in the kitchen.  Busying himself with her tasks of preparing the meal and the trays, he fixed her a lavish plate while she greedily ate the bowl of soup he insisted was for her.  In no time at all she felt more like herself again and thanked him for his hospitality. 

“Belle, forever is a long time,” he said.  “I can keep you alive, I can make sure you don’t age.  I can help you endure any physical injury except one.”  He leaned entirely into her view, demanding eye contact this time, and she cowered a bit from his crooked teeth.  “You must make sure you take care of yourself because I can’t always be here to do so.”

Belle was stunned with the raw look on his face.  He clearly wanted her to be well but what she saw now was a clear look of concern.  He didn’t want her to sacrifice her sense of independence out of fear.  _Why was that,_ she wondered.  She kept the thought to herself, swallowing and nodding quickly in the silence.  After all, she remembered that he cared for what was his, and wasn’t she part of the collection now?

“Which is why,” he said, more relaxed and in his sing-song voice, “whenever I am here and available for mealtimes, I’d very much appreciate your company.” Belle’s face relaxed at that, giving him a genuine smile, and he almost retracted the statement.  Although honestly, what could it hurt to have her a little closer-by to make sure she wouldn’t continue to go through needless self-neglect?

Quickly, before the moment passed, he added, “At least for a while, just so I know I can trust you to be alone in the kitchen.”  With that, he finished the soup and the rest of the meal without saying another word.  He then vanished, leaving his plates in the sink for her to wash up as usual.


	2. Belle and Rumpelstiltskin Beginnings - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina decides the play a little trick on Rumpelstiltskin and Belle gets caught in the middle.

“Rumpelstiltskin,” Belle called, seething, her voice echoing into the dark of the castle along with her steps as she paced.  _Locked.  Locked away in my room… or rather my dungeon._ She cringed.  _I wonder if he’s only doing this to torment me, or if it’s his way of testing my mettle._ “Rumpelstiltskin!” she shouted, feeling her cheeks flush with irritation.

The man himself appeared just outside her door to peer in at her. 

“Oh, you seem to be bolted in, don’t you?”  He sniggered to himself.  “I have business today which requires that you be out of sight.  Not to fret,” Rumpelstiltskin pointed dramatically towards the heavens, mocking the look of aristocracy, “I promise I’ll be back for you, as swiftly as possible.”  With a click of his fingers, he laid out a feast for her in her cell, and oddly, a musical instrument.  “I hope I haven’t left you terribly agitated without my company.”  And with that, he vanished, just as he’d appeared.

Belle stomped her feet, her work dress jolting about her, and put her hands on her hips.  _Without his company, indeed,_ she thought with a huff.  She went over to investigate the musical instrument; it was stringed, akin to a lute, made of wood.  Strumming it absently, she recalled being pleased by that sort of musical sound when she was young.  It reminded her of her childhood, back when her father would entertain many a tradesman.  There had been a strange-looking man who sold such things and she had asked her father to purchase a similar instrument for her.  At the time, her father had been engrossed in teaching her to shun frivolity, so he denied her this gift. 

Belle wondered if the trader had been Rumpelstiltskin.  It _was_ rumored that he could take the guise of anyone, living or dead.  But such thoughts about the Dark One were entirely a waste of time.  What did it matter what his motives were?  He couldn’t be trusted.

Suddenly overcome with hunger, she turned to the food he had provided.  He had disregarded all of her chores that day, on whim alone, and she couldn’t help feeling slighted.  Not usually one to complain, she sat down to prepare herself a meal from his offerings, determined not to let it bother her.  She had to take what she could get; after all, she had chosen this life.

* * *

 “Rumpel, so good to see you,” Regina purred, sashaying into the castle in a swell of feathers and velvet.  Her high collar was lined with the fur of a wild boar, black to match her raven hair.  Around her waist was a belt studded with obsidian crystals and her gloves were embellished with what looked eerily like crow’s eyes.  “You’re looking well!  I’m glad you could see me on such short notice.”

Regina rarely came to the castle for visits, but even so, Rumpelstiltskin didn’t want to show her any undue kindnesses; that would only encourage her to overstay her already dubious welcome, and his once-star pupil was certainly likely to notice items worthy of her personal exploitation.  She treated her own servants with terrible disdain, and he shrank from the idea of subjecting Belle to such treatment.

Rumpelstiltskin was courteous, regardless of his inner judgments, and made a little bow, smiling at her.  “And you are splendid as ever, Your Majesty.  What is it that can I do for you?”

She took his arm as they walked leisurely up to his tower, where all of his blackest magicks were housed.  “It’s _awful_ , dear.  The King, it appears, has come down with a terrible soreness about his limbs, and nothing I give him eases in his discomfort.  Can you help?” 

“Fever?”

“Yes, to boiling,” she said, making a moue.

With any other woman, he would have thought that he saw true concern for a husband’s wellbeing upon her face.  But they had known each other for so very long and he simply couldn’t imagine her caring for the King – at least in any way beyond her own avarice.

“I may have something to ease his pain,” Rumpelstiltskin said, lilting his voice.  He reached the top of the tower stair and practically skipped over to his work table, which was stained and gashed with echoes of enchantments.

Regina licked her lips, her eyes wider than before, “And the price?”

He considered her desperate stance for a moment.  “A clipping from your apple orchard.”  His voice grew darker when he added, “you know the one.”

She stiffened briefly, but smirked, betraying nothing.  With a purple shimmer of dust, in her hands appeared a branch with a few leaves still clinging to it.  “Will this suffice?”

Rumpelstiltskin trilled in delight, “That would be the one, yes.”  He stepped forward, gently taking the branch from her and depositing a small box into her hands in return.  “Twice in the mornings, with tea and no other food.”  He stopped, considering her for a moment.  “Be careful, dearie, if for any reason you’ve… misread the signs, this little potion will only make him worse.”

Regina almost grinned, but quickly recovered, and her expression would have been appalled were she not obviously faking.  He nodded and winked at her.

As he turned, so enamored with his new specimen, he didn’t see Regina rub some of the sap, which had beaded on her glove, into the stones of the wall behind her.  She knew a few hexes of her own, and doing this small deed would add a little tedious trouble to Rumpelstiltskin’s day.  Even such a tiny drop was enough to allow the malicious hex to work into the floors, and the shelves, and all the curtains and rugs, thus guaranteeing that his peace would be thoroughly disrupted – enough, Regina hoped, to drive him even further into madness.  _He so hates his precious little objects to be out of place_ , she thought with a grin.

As she left him with that pleasant smile, Rumpelstiltskin closed the doors behind her with a thought.  He stretched in the solitude of his castle, almost unwilling to free his servant and return to the life they’d seemed to be building together.  But, like a child, he had promised to go straight away once the deal was done and free her, so it was off to the dungeons.

The lock on Belle’s room opened with a heavy clunk.  Rumpelstiltskin stood in the doorway, pleased as punch.  “A _thousand_ apologies, you are free once more.” He bowed low with the smile still playing about his lips.

Belle narrowed her eyes.  “If you know you’re going to have company, I _can_ just make myself scarce; you don’t need to keep me in here.”

Rumpelstiltskin feigned offense as he turned on his heel and began to walk away.  “It was the safest place for you, dearie.  I’ll not apologize for keeping you safe.  I’ll expect supper at the usual time.” Giggling to himself and half-dancing down the corridor, he vanished around the corner.

**_The following week_ **

Supping with Belle was not as uncomfortable as Rumpelstiltskin would have thought. 

Not since Baelfire had he sat with someone for a meal; and even then, especially near the end once he had his powers, it had become an uncomfortable and terse routine.  Yet there he was, sitting quite contentedly, with such a beauty as Belle (who, it must be said, was surprisingly witty, and inquisitive in some ways that would make him blush, if he _could_ blush).  She was so much his opposite!  If he'd still been mortal and the Dark One had asked _him_ to supper, he would have fled the kingdom immediately, covering his tracks as he went.

Belle, it seemed, was far braver than he.  She was there with him of her own free will, wasn't she? She had decided her own fate, she had acquiesced to the terms of his bargain, knowing full well the significance of that agreement.  In a way, he was lucky: she was far from dull, and certainly kept him guessing.  A different servant would have cowered and still likely done their duty, but he found in Belle something he hadn't realized he needed.  She was a warm summer breeze through the Dark Castle, and he liked it.

Belle had just finished reading to him, which had become a regular occurrence since they began this little ritual.  He found it pleasing enough, and her conversation was diverting, though she seemed to want to avoid discussing his travels.  He couldn’t imagine why.

"And are you the frog,  or the scorpion?" Rumpelstiltskin sipped his tea, letting her squirm.

"What do you think?"

"Oh, you're a scorpion, I’m certain of it.  Remind me never to take you on long trips across the sea on _my_ back—” He made a face at her, giving her the full glare of his eyes.

But of course, this was his brave Belle he was trying to intimidate.  Her tinkling laughter filled the hall.  "Well, if that isn't the most scorpion answer—!  Trying to throw me off the scent?"

He felt his facade crack just a little around the edges, the shell buckling slightly.  Sometimes she adopted his cadences, only subtly, but still they were there.  He wasn’t sure what to make of it.  What did it mean?  (Because of course everything always meant _something_ , everything had its price.)  He couldn’t decide how he felt about his precious Belle becoming like the beast.

Belle cheerily began to clear the table and bring the tea set back into the kitchen, but as she neared the door she caught her shoe on the edge of the carpet.  Rumpelstiltskin was fast enough to reach out and steady her and still grab the tea tray, but not, apparently, graceful enough to save her from injury entirely.

Belle winced and grabbed onto him for support, sucking in her breath.  “Ow, _blast_ , it’s my ankle.”

“Oh dearie, dearie, let us have a look.” He set down the tray and gently helped Belle to a chair, which he had summoned behind her with a wave of his hand.  Rumpelstiltskin waited for her to settled before asking, “May I…?”

Belle nodded, not trusting herself to answer.  She blinked back tears; there was a lump in her throat she couldn't quite speak around.  Rumpelstiltskin gingerly prodded her foot here and there, turning it slightly, trying his best to ignore how she winced (whether from discomfort or his touch, he couldn’t tell). 

“Looks to be a nasty twist, but I can heal it, just you watch!” He made a flourish and at once, purple smoke began moving about her ankle, swirling all around.  He stepped back and prodded her foot a second time, waiting for her to realize the pain was gone.  She moved it on her own with a sigh of relief.  Beaming, he offered her his arm to help her stand.

Belle took a couple of shaky steps, still buzzing from initial shock, but found she was—at least physically—fine.  She thanked him sheepishly and muttered something about clumsiness. 

“Perhaps you leapt too energetically after all that tea,” Rumpelstiltskin teased, but added, “I wouldn’t fret too much.”

“I’m not usually uncoordinated,” said Belle, flustered.  “I was a dancer when I was small, quite graceful, actually.  Father wanted me to perform at balls and galas, but I didn’t want to be the center of attention.”

Rumpelstiltskin scoffed a bit at that. “Come now, dearie, first the drapes, and now the carpet; one begins to spot a trend.”

Belle knew what he was getting at.  His dramatic gesture towards the windows, divested of their velvet hangings, brought the memories to the forefront of her thoughts once more—particularly how, not but a few days before, she had fallen into his arms.

But reminding her, even in jest, of how she had embarrassed herself, made Belle wish he would let the matter drop.

“I… I know how it looks, but I’m not—”

She caught his murky-green gaze and decided it wasn’t worth the effort to explain herself.  He could think of her in whatever manner he chose; she knew who she was, and Rumpel-bloody-stiltskin’s opinion wouldn’t change that.

Belle picked up the tray and stalked from the room without another word, hearing a quiet snort of laughter as the door swung closed in her wake.


	3. Belle and Rumpelstiltskin Beginnings - Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina's little trick bears fruit but not the sour kind she was expecting.

“ _Belle!”_   Rumpelstiltskin raged like a tornado, crashing into the laundry closet.  “Where are you?  Belle!”

A sound from out in the garden gave him pause.  “There!”  He snapped his fingers and was outside, glaring at her, as she tended the blooming flowerbeds for the summer season.  “Belle, I need to speak with you; come with me straight away.  Yes, leave that, come here!”

Belle had never encountered his anger before.  He was well mad and his golden skin took on a sickly green cast.  His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and she thought that this was what it must be like to encounter someone looking for a fight.

It was all she could do to keep up with his brisk, stomping pace as they made their way back into the castle.  He opened his bedchamber door and stood to one side, the malcontent still plain on his face.  “Explain yourself.”

Belle walked carefully into the room, taking stock of everything.  His bedchamber was enormous – the bed taking up only one tenth of the room, yet somehow remaining large and inviting.  The walls were a pretty seashell enameled white; the floors were of polished stone, the flags uneven, yet not so much as to disrupt one’s balance. 

But then she saw all of the clothing, strewn everywhere in tatters, some of it smoldering as if it had just barely been pulled from a fire.  There was a chair with a broken leg and another only recognizable from the cushions matching a similar set in the main hall.

“What happened?”  Belle asked, frowning at a nearby stain on the fireplace mantel and wondering what would work best to remove it.

“Do you honestly believe you’re going to blink your pretty eyes and tell me you didn’t do this? Do you think you can just get away with something like this – that I won’t punish you for such betrayal?” Rumpelstiltskin was so angry he came right up to her and was yelling toe to toe.

“I didn’t do this!” Belle stood her ground.  He was having a tantrum, that was all.  He would calm down.  "Well, if you want me to help with the clean up, I'll oblige, certainly, but -"

Before she could finish her thought, Rumpelstiltskin grabbed her hair and dragged Belle to her room, locking them both inside.  He threw her into the corner and began pacing the small, enclosed space.  He reminded her of an animal, suddenly turned vicious after months of being someone’s pet.  His eyes, the eyes that sparkled in firelight, listening intently to her reading or ideas about how best to perform her duties, now set alight by fury, made her cower from him – position she neither liked nor appreciated after long months of quiet servitude.

“How could you do this to me, Belle?  Why would you do this?” He had the nerve to look hurt after tossing her around like a doll.

He was trying to reason it out; maybe she could still reach him.  “I haven’t, I’ve never been in that room before you brought me in there.  I have never disobeyed any instruction you have given me.”  She stood shakily to dust off her dress.  She was not about to be condemned on her knees.

“Well then what happened?"  He smiled crookedly, his eyes becoming all the more fierce.  Her brashness at standing seemed to make him grow in size.  He firmly pushed her onto her cot so she was sitting below him.  "There’s not another soul in this castle, dearie.  Surely you don’t think I keep my chambers in such disarray!”

“Of course not, but I am telling you that I’ve never – I swear to you, I've done nothing wrong.”  Belle recognized the sound in her voice: she was pleading with him.  She hadn’t realized before how hurt she would be to feel his anger directed at her.  If only she could somehow understand where all of his anger came from, maybe she could save herself from this uneasiness.  “Whatever went on in there, it had nothing to do with me.”

“So, you’re calling me a liar.”  The implication was plain.  No question, just the accusation. 

“Rumpelstiltskin, I swear, I don’t know what happened.  I would never do anything to anger you this much.”  She meant it.  She went very rigid, shrinking as small as she could, with her hands on her lap, and she hated it, although Rumpelstiltskin seemed pleased by her cowering.  He drew himself up to his full height and towered over her.

He whispered, but it was the clearest she’d every heard him speak.  “Well… dearie,” She never thought one word would make her jolt with unease.  “If this isn’t your fault – then it must be mine?”

His eyes changed to blood red.  Belle was so terrified she fell to her knees and almost groveled towards him.  “Please, I don’t know what happened; can you at least let me try to figure out what happened?”

“You aren’t accustomed to begging for your life, are you?”

Belle put her head down and went perfectly still – she wasn’t groveling anymore, but was definitely bent in that posture awaiting his judgment.  She wouldn’t interrupt him again; she would wait; she could be patient, if that would save her life.

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated.  He had missed something.  Maybe that was her plan all along, to lull him into a false sense of security so she could be trusted and then damage _him_ as much as she could damage anything of his.  But she never attacked him directly; it wasn’t about the clothes or the walls or the stuff – he had endless possessions to suit his appetites – it was about disobeying him so directly that he couldn’t ignore the implication.  He wondered if she realized he'd been testing her that week, leaving his chamber door unlocked to see if she would move anything, and checking when he arrived home to find everything exactly where he left it.  Belle hadn’t risked it – that is, until now.

“You… you are confined to your room until I sort out the mess you’ve made and can decide upon a proper punishment.”  Dripping with rage, he left in the blink of an eye, the dungeon door slamming shut, locking stiffly behind him.

Belle was left alone, shaking with shock, with barely a thought in her mind but that she had so utterly failed, somehow.  Moments ago she had been in the garden; only a few short hours had past since they'd shared a quiet moment over tea in his study, and now here she was.  A keening sound escaped her throat as she began to cry. 

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin made his way down to the kitchens, a place he hadn't needed to enter in a long time.  He went through the drawers, leaving cupboards open in his wake, looking for the tea set, smashing several pieces of china in the process.  His hands shook with rage when he finally found what he was looking for and brought it up on the counter.  The small, chipped cup was a dainty fragile thing in his hands…

 _Everything is still mine,_ he thought.  _Even if I destroy something in her kitchen, even if this chipped teacup is no longer here when she returns… these are still my belongings._

Frustrated and exhausted, he closed his eyes.  After a long pause of stillness and contemplation, he made himself a small cuppa and set himself upon Belle’s work stool.  Looking around, he noted what care she had taken with the kitchen: everything was in its place, and that pleased him, which was why the state of his bedchamber was such a vicious mystery.

He liked having her in his home, and generally enjoyed her company – and wasn’t that what bothered him even more than disobedience? He didn’t _want_ to punish her.  He didn’t _want_ to hurt her.  Yet there was the issue of his room.  Was she testing him?  Did she _want_ to be punished, or just to see how far he could be pushed until he broke?

With a final sneer at his surroundings, and weighing all of the events of the day and past few months, he let his breath out slowly.  _She couldn’t have done that, not my Belle,_ he thought at last, finishing his tea.  He wasn’t sure when he’d begun thinking of her as his, but he liked that, too.

Sighing heavily, he made his way back to his disheveled room to try to make sense of it all.  Slowly he surveyed all of the destruction piece by piece, taking a mental stock of everything that was completely unsalvageable. 

Rumpelstiltskin sat cross-legged in the center of the room.  A few deep breaths and a clap of his hands and the whole room was bathed in a golden-yellow light.  "Come, pretty little things," he whispered, "Let me see what kind of state you’re in."

A few articles of clothing, still tattered but not as torn, swept to his side.  He was about to address the walls when he noticed the clothing closest to him was different somehow.  He picked up two shirts and looked closer with his magically green eyes.  There, in the folds, like magic electricity fighting with the threads.  "What - happened to you?" He blew the question into the electricity, expecting an image of Belle to appear before him.  An instant like an eternity passed until, instead of seeing auburn hair, the magic swelled, turning red into...  into an apple...

Rumpelstiltskin let out a screech and disappeared from his chambers.  If he had only stayed a few minutes more he would have noticed the tiny puff of smoke coming from his dresser.  He would have seen the green flame erupting from the small chest of gems in the corner. 

* * *

Spinning through the in-between spaces, he arrived silently and perfectly as always at the Queen’s palace.  She was in her spell chamber, mixing some terrible-smelling broth.  "Your Majesty, a word." Rumpelstiltskin had to be cordial.  He _had_ to be.  He couldn't risk anything too damaging against this terrible woman, as he still needed to deal with her, possibly for another decade, and that wouldn’t be fun if they continued to torment each other like this.

"Rumpel! What a pleasant surprise!" She left the spoon to magically stir for her as she turned.  "What can I do for you?"

"Did the potion you needed from me do its job?"

"No complaints, I was able to get exactly what I wanted." She grinned at him; Rumpelstiltskin wondered if she could tell he was on edge—they did used to know each other so well.

"You left me a present when you were last at my castle, didn't you, dearie?" Rumpelstiltskin's smile was more of a sneer, now, as he was unable to accuse her outright; truth be told, he wanted to just shake the confession out of her.  But wiser council prevailed, and he decided it was best to tell her exactly what she had done, and to see the look on her face when she realized she had been caught.

The Queen chuckled into her palm, "I'm sorry Rumpel, I couldn't resist." Her eyes sparkled with glee.  "I just know how you love everything being so _orderly_." She imitated his flair with dramatic waves of her arms, mocking him.  " _Must keep all my treasures cataloged and filed!_ ” She scoffed.  “So, what happened?"

Rumpelstiltskin didn't even know how to respond, so he laughed.  "My clothes were tearing each other apart.  What a childish hex!  Menial labor nightmare, if you ask me."

The Queens eyes grew wide, "Oh Rumpel, the hex is just getting _started_.  Your little vials and jars of whatever-you’ve-got will soon be...  trickier to keep locked."

Rumpelstiltskin's rage flared again.  "This isn't over, Your Majesty!"

With a little wisp of smoke, he was gone from her castle and appeared in his chambers, appalled by the sight of flames, thrice as tall as a grown man, consuming the tapestries and tearing across the floor, smoke blackening the lead-paned windows.  He could see through the caved-in doors that the fire had made its way into other parts of the castle, which choked him with panic and anger.  Rumpelstiltskin's powers kept his body safe from the blaze, but that was little comfort; he knew the Queen was likely watching him from one of her bloody mirrors, reveling in the destruction she had caused.

Rubbing his hands together he changed the air around him, forming warm and cold fronts that made magical rain within his home, cool showers dousing the fire.  As he quickly examined the charred patterns on the rugs, it became clear that the flames had started in that very room, and he groaned, knowing exactly which box had been opened to let loose such magical fire.  Leaving the wreckage of his private wing, he went from room to room, extinguishing the blaze.  After what felt like hours of rain-summoning and breathing in acrid smoke, Rumpelstiltskin felt certain that he had put out the worst of it, and that it wasn't too risky to try and find Belle.  The fire had been nowhere near the dungeons, so she _must_ have been safe—that seemed beyond a doubt, until he reached her cell, finding it still barred securely, though empty.

How could she have escaped from a locked room? Rumpelstiltskin spun on the spot trying to fathom where she could possibly be—but then he remembered: he'd put a spell on his castle, one specifically to guard against destruction by fire.  Just as he'd used fire to get the dagger, he often wondered if anyone else would try to do the same to him, so he had set up a fail-safe spell that, in the event of someone setting his castle alight, would transport any occupants to the old village, now abandoned, where he had lived with his son.

Ah, the pains of memory, how swiftly they crashed over him as he fled from the castle and into surrounding woods, to the old hovel, to the place where he knew no one could see. 

With a wave of his hand he parted the magical veil and stepped through it.  There in the clearing where his small home once stood was Belle, sitting at table with a book open in front of her, reading quietly and occasionally sniffing.  Rumpelstiltskin stood very still.  “Belle,” he began, remembering that he’d mistreated her the last time they had spoken—he could barely say anything above a whisper, so intensely was he ashamed of himself.

Belle looked up, searching his face.  Maybe it was the way he’d said her name or the change in his voice, she couldn't be sure, but it looked like the worst of it was over.

Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t speak.  It was like his entire body was made of ice and speaking would melt him into nothingness.  He walked over to her on the balls of his feet as he used to, with perhaps a bit more of a cautious gait.  "There was a fire.  My magic brought you here..." he stammered, wishing an explanation could mend what had occurred before.

He signaled for her to follow him and she stood, hesitating a bit, not knowing his state of mind.  She smiled to herself a little, imagining he was trying to come up with an apology but was having trouble finding the words.

He snapped his fingers and parted the magic curtain again, leading her out into the woods from whence he had come.  They walked silently for a time, Rumpelstiltskin careful not touching her but staying close, and Belle trying to think of something to say to ease the tension between them.

“Belle, I... I solved the problem.  An old,” he ground out the word, “ _friend_ was playing a trick on me.”  Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat.  He never explained himself to anyone, not since Bae, because he was rubbish at explaining and it never went his way when he did.  To his own ears, every reason he offered sounded crass and did nothing to truly excuse his behavior.

“Mm-hmm,” Belle prompted, concealing a secret smirk.  “Well, Rumpelstiltskin, you’ve brought my character into question, haven’t you?”

Rumpelstiltskin breathed in shallowly—what game was she playing now? Why was it always games and schemes that he never saw coming?  Fumbling in his pockets and looking her at sideways, he begrudgingly confessed, “It appears I have.”

“Well, what are you going to offer me in repentance?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes lit up with laughter at her impertinence.  If this was the extent of her disloyalty, perhaps he could live with that.  “Belle, I don’t have to provide you with _anything_ if I don’t wish to.” But didn’t he want to make it up to her? Didn’t he feel guilty? God, was that what this was – _guilt_? It tasted of unripe berries on his tongue, so sour it was almost painful, and he would have eaten anything else to be free of it.  “But if I did, what is it you desire?”

Belle let him see the smile then and it surprised him.  She shouldn’t be enjoying this, not after the day she’d had or the way he treated her!  Why was she suddenly so happy? “Well, kind sir, what I desire is … a new bookshelf full of books for me to read!”

Rumpelstiltskin nearly tripped over himself.  “That will… make you happy?”  It seemed so trifling a request, too simple to be true.

“That will help me forgive your... _display_ earlier.” Belle looked at him full in the face, “I’d never betray your trust.  I hope this whole mess will make you think twice before accusing me in the future.”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed, pursing his lips.  “If that is all it will take,” he nodded in agreement, at once uncomfortable with the deal he’s just agreed to.  He hated being put on the spot like that—that was _his_ privilege, _he_ was the one who scored off people!

With a little smile on her lips as they reached the gates, Belle twirled around and walked back into the still-smoking castle as if she owned the place.

”Trouble,” whispered Rumpelstiltskin under his breath.  He uneasily followed her inside and waved his hands to close the doors behind him.


	4. Belle and Rumpelstiltskin Love - The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle peruses the castle, daydreaming of Rumpelstiltskin's goings on while he's out, when a mysterious key presents a bit of intrigue to her day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter exists outside of "show canon", as I began writing this chapter back before Season 2 had started.

He was off on one of his errands again, leaving Belle alone in the big, dark castle.  She remembered the first morning she awoke to find, pinned to the door of her cell, a piece of unadorned parchment that read:

_I am called away on business.  Please tend to your duties. Within the walls of the Dark Castle, you are completely safe.  You may not leave under any circumstances.  I shall return in three days' time at twilight.  I would be grateful if you would have tea prepared._

The first day in the castle on her own had been terribly unnerving.  The knowledge that she was completely alone was something she’d never actually considered.  In her father's house there had always been servants, always a nursemaid or a maiden or even a child somewhere.  Faced with the prospect of utter solitude, she realized she would sorely miss her master.

After getting used to the idea, the time alone passed more easily, busy as she was with her usual chores.  There was still all the cleaning, dusting, tending the courtyard's garden, polishing the silver, drying the herbs—dozens of things with which to occupy herself until his return.  She had spent most of the day dusting the contents of one of the glass-fronted cases, wondering, as she always did when handling Rumpelstiltskin's knick-knacks, why he hoarded these strange objects like some sort of jealous dragon slumbering on its treasure.  Though interesting to look at, nothing about them seemed particularly valuable—an old cork here, a bent silver coin there, perfectly ordinary bark in a wooden bowl, a coarse green ribbon with a knot in one end—but he had told her to take great care with them, and in particular to not let dust collect on the small glass figurines.

Her mind wandered to what he might be doing out there in the world.  Rumpelstiltskin had refused to speak of his travels since a few short days after Belle began her indentured servitude, when she had been shaken by the knowledge that he was often unjust, even cruel to those upon whom he worked his magic.  She oughtn't have expected any better from the Dark One, of all people, but some sliver of hope she carried with her had led her to believe that perhaps, secretly, he might be a kind wizard.  But that hope had been dashed when he reminisced, with what to Belle seemed to be callous amusement, about the fate of that poor husband and wife, robbed of their lives by others' deception, their son robbed of his parents.

Rumpelstiltskin had looked at her askance when she'd begun to cry. "Belle," he said with a stubborn, prideful gleam in his eyes.  "Come on, dearie, you needn't fret about these two.  They're perfectly safe, aren't they?  They live in a castle now, much better than the hovel from whence they came."

The marionette couple, hanging supported by a curly-footed metal stand, were pleading with Belle with their eerie, carved faces.  She could feel their gaze like nettles on the back of her neck.  Their glossy eyes, silently screaming over the conversation, were wretched with frozen horror.  "But that's such a horrible tale!  Whyever would you tell me such a thing?  Why— _how_ —could you possibly delight in such a disgusting... a _horrid_...."

"It's not _my_ fault, dearie.  I don't know what sort of charmed life you were carrying on before you so valiantly sacrificed it, but in the _real_ world unfortunate things occur, with or without my intervention.  That doesn't mean one is heartless if one appreciates poetic justice." He cocked his head, looking at her curiously, as a bird observes a struggling, upturned beetle in the dirt.  Clicking his tongue disapprovingly to himself, he produced a handkerchief from his wyvern-leather waistcoat.  "The exact circumstances weren't under my control, and besides, think how much easier their lives are now that they reside here, with us!  They have nothing to fear any longer!  No pain, no struggle, no work."

“And what about their child?” Belle demanded tearfully.  “You've cursed him to a life without a mother or father!  Tell me, if you think Fate has dealt them such a charitable hand: would _you_ want that for someone you loved, if indeed you're even _capable_ of caring for someone other than yourself?  If _you_ had a son—”

The lines around Rumpelstiltskin's usually-smirking mouth went hard for a moment, and he blinked quickly a few times before righting his expression, returning at once to smugness.  He continued his thought as if Belle hadn't spoken.  “No betrayal.  No loss.  No unrealistic expectations of goodness and valor.  Trust me, pet, they're better off.”

Belle shivered, her mind back on the present as she glanced up at the puppets, their faces just as immobile and terror-struck as they had been when she had first seen them.  Brushing them lightly with her duster, Belle had the creeping suspicion that one of them might sneeze, and quickly moved on to the next piece. 

To save herself the agony of imagining Rumpelstiltskin mistreating someone, or luring some unsuspecting pauper into a misleadingly-worded deal, she often just thought of places he might see, and the people he might meet on his journey to wherever he took his no-doubt ghastly business.  Belle imagined her master passing broad, flat fields of ivory flowers ready to be harvested by the grand perfumers in the south; the craggy eastern cliffs of which she had only seen drawings, the stony ground redder than rust, skittering with little winged turtles and tufted mice, all the while surveyed by circling carrion-birds; translucent crystal caverns by the sea, their walls glowing as if from within with a wavering blue-green light, the steady drip of water echoing for miles into the earth.  Belle knew that Rumpelstiltskin could just open the air and step through it to where he wished to go, and indeed that was how he got from place to place, but she felt that was quite a waste of a good journey—no matter how quickly magic could take her to her destination, Belle preferred to enjoy the world around her as she traveled through it.

In her mind she crafted many characters Rumpelstiltskin might meet, composed of combinations of strangers she recalled from market days and court functions, their personalities a collage of bits and pieces from novels she enjoyed: here was Gerard the cobbler, with his little spectacles and secretive smile; Wilhelmina the innkeeper's wife, her four green-eyed children in tow; young Matthew, the smith's apprentice, his round face all blackened with soot so that when he smiled his teeth shone moon-white and dazzling.  There would be ragged-shirted boys trundling a wooden hoop in the square, girls skipping rope and singing jumping rhymes, and a very tanned fellow selling oranges from the seaside kingdoms.  Lady Viola Something-or-other, out with her blue-liveried retinue, would draw admiring looks from village wives and make the gentlemen smooth down their unruly hair and grin boyishly as she passed, the train of her elaborate walking dress carried by a pageboy young enough to have a gap from a lost baby tooth.

The things she dreamed up felt quite real to Belle, for she was of the opinion that anything wonderful that could be imagined might properly exist somewhere, if one looked hard enough.  She knew how beautiful their realm was, and how varied and fascinating its inhabitants—and how Rumpelstiltskin probably didn't care a whit about any of them.

She thought his life very lonely indeed, with only herself for company, and whomever it was that he went to see.  It wasn't as if he wasn't worthy of friendship!  Her master was abrasive, yes, and occasionally cruel; he was odd in his ways, and of course being the Dark One made it difficult for people to get close to him.  But didn't everyone, Belle mused, have those very qualities about them, in equal or lesser measure?  Didn't she occasionally fall into a snappish mood, herself, or wish harm on someone who had hurt her?  Didn't she, too, have little quirks that set her apart, and difficulty trusting others?  They weren't as different as they might seem on the surface, and Belle didn't know whether it was a comforting or disturbing thought.

Realizing she'd become lost in her thoughts, Belle hurried off down to the large airing cupboard where she'd hung up the washing to dry, hoping to fold what she could and hang the rest before his return.  Thankfully the new starch she had concocted didn't set things too stiffly, as Rumpelstiltskin's clothes were a good fit and he had complained of too much rigidity in his clothing before.  He was rather vain, she realized, despite his strange appearance; his pride in his fine clothes was almost laughably obvious at times.  Coming from a royal family as she had, Belle understood that such behavior meant that Rumpelstiltskin likely hadn't led the life of a rich man before coming into power; she could hardly think of any well-off duke or baronet of her acquaintance who strutted so like a peacock as her master did.

 _Quarter of seven precisely by the clock_ , he had written in his note before this most recent departure, knowing how fascinated Belle was by the great free-standing timepiece in the hall.  He had acquired the clock recently from a northern lord who, as Rumpelstiltskin put it, needed more time in his life.  “The best way to find more time is to not allow a machine to keep it for you.”  Nevertheless, Belle was drawn to the intricate moving parts, the little gold hands ticking round the painted face, shining pendulum swaying beneath.

She had checked the clock before returning to the kitchen to attend to dinner, though it seemed she may have lost track of how much time had passed; the stew was smoldering on the hearth, and in the steam and heated closeness of the kitchen she suddenly felt too light on her feet.  She made herself some toast over the fire, buttering and eating it while it was still so warm it reddened her fingers, just to maintain her wherewithal until dinner could be properly enjoyed.  Her flask of water was almost drained when she heard the great doors open in the hall above, the heavy bolts sliding back resoundingly, even over the sound of crackling logs in the kitchen hearth and the stew burbling in its pot.

Hurrying up the spiral staircase to the clock's corridor, she saw that it was barely seven o'clock.  It was unlike him to be so early, especially when he had been very particular about noting the time of his return.  But no matter, her master was somewhat capricious; maybe he'd told her one time and come earlier to catch her unawares? She hastily smoothed her hair back and shook the toast crumbs from her apron before quick-walking to the entrance hall.  When she neared the doors, which had been closed once more, Belle mentally rehearsed how she would welcome him home from his long journey—but found that he was nowhere in sight, and didn't seem to even be in the foyer at all.  Only a little box awaited her on the marble floor, no larger than a child's block, and Belle was certain that if she hadn't been casting her gaze about in confusion, she would have completely missed it.

Curiously, she picked up the box, tilting it under the light from the torch sconces to inspect it further.  The inlaid metal plate on the lid was inscribed with her name, and inside the box lay a small brass key, nestled on a little coil of velvet with an even smaller note, which read, in Rumpelstiltskin's slanting hand:

_Last door in the North tower._

What was she to make of _that_?  Belle put the box into her apron pocket for safe keeping and, with one last glance round the entrance hall, made her way back down the length of the room, wondering if she should return to her duties or whether the note constituted a command.  She fretted with her fingers a bit, thinking of dinner still on the stove, and the fire that needed tending, and all of her plans to get things just right before Rumpelstiltskin actually came back.

But did this strange message mean he was already home, and testing her obedience?  Surely there wasn't a spell that could open and close the doors and leave something for her, all while the man working the spell was absent.

Belle thought of the heroes in her favorite stories and steeled herself for a little adventure, beginning the climb to the tower.  The Northern Wing was a desolate part of the castle, and she never enjoyed the few moments she'd spent in it cleaning the cobwebs away, but she told herself not to be afraid.  It seemed to her that something there was dormant and waiting for life to return, but for good or ill, she didn't want to assume.

She had always wondered why more than half of the tower was locked away behind a single door, as the castle's other towers had winding stairs all the way up, with a single room per level.  Now, she supposed, was her chance to find out why.  The key fit, if stiffly, into the keyhole of the last door, and though she expected a squeal of hinges, the door swung open smoothly.

The room beyond was a massive space, with several cozy, matching armchairs sprawled across the circular rug at the center of the room, flanked by low tables, and once she stepped inside a cheerful fire roiled up magically from the ashes in the enormous hearth as if to greet her.  The fire was small compared to the dim vastness of the room, however, and it was difficult to make out much of what it contained.  She noticed a few tapestries on the far wall, though she couldn't quite make out what they depicted; similarly, the walls themselves appeared to have some sort of staggered, vertically-striped pattern that she had to squint to see.  Was it wallpaper or stonework...?  Belle was briefly irritated at herself for not thinking to bring a candle, for the high windows were covered with the heavy velvet curtains her master preferred.

Too curious not to, Belle dragged a chair over to rest below one of the windows, stepping up on to it, standing on tiptoe to reach the braided cord with which to draw the curtain back.  A few tugs, and all the light the dusky sky could offer showered down on her, along with a veritable storm of dust.  Coughing a little and squinting as her eyes adjusted, Belle turned to step off of the chair, thinking with some amusement that she ought to be extra careful as there was no one present to catch her.

The key she had been holding clattered to the floor as Belle's grip went slack with surprise.  A phalanx of books surrounded her, packed floor to ceiling in curving shelves built into the very walls—the pattern had been the spines of books, not stripes!—stacked here and there on claw-footed desks and broad, flat railings that flanked a sort of balcony constructed entirely of shelves.  In places Belle could see patterns in how the books were grouped: a forty-strong collection of identically-sized burgundy volumes with gilded symbols at the base of every spine, slim little blue-covered serial novels stacked  from the top of a shelf to the bottom of a shelf flanked by slanted piles of twine-bound poetry manuscripts.  Her eyes seemed drawn to books she recognized: _Twenty Accounts of Historical Intrigue_ by Theonid, Scribe of the West; _Romantic Philosophy in the Time of Wars_ by Caprissa Hardgrove; _Child of the Were-fire and Other Tales_ by Flinton Spindlewright.  More than the familiarity delighted her, Belle was struck by the comparison between books she had read and the hundreds upon hundreds that she had not.  What knowledge they must contain!  What excitement, what challenging ideas!  What dashing heroes and windswept locales!

She choked back a sob when she realized what she was seeing.  _His gift,_ his promise to her, to make them even for his doubting her....  She'd never dreamed of having so many books at her disposal—not in her lifetime, and certainly not _forever_.  She had what seemed like an eternity to read everything in this room.  There were ladders on wheeled tracks for accessing the highest shelves, which vaulted to a staggering thirty feet, and she need only reach out a hand to grasp the rungs of the nearest ladder.

Overcome with emotions too heavy for her trembling legs to support, Belle sank to the floor, caring little that her skirt and petticoats were crumpled awkwardly beneath her, nor that she was now likely covered with even more dust.  She could feel her face flush as small tears stung her eyes, and her chest felt tight, breath coming in hitching gasps.  Not even her father, who a kind and gentle man, had ever given her such a gift as this.  Belle was so overwhelmed with gratitude that her previous concerns—dinner, the dying kitchen fire, whether her master was actually home yet or not—slipped from her mind.

She didn't know how long she was there on the floor, not quite believing that the library was real.  Off in the distant reality that was the rest of the castle, she imagined the great doors opening once more, Rumpelstiltskin striding in and expecting a warm welcome, and not knowing where she was.  She imagined him wandering the castle, thinking he might find her absorbed in her work, and would finally find where she leaned against a wall of dramatic folios, unable to cope with what he'd provided for her.  Would he take a cautious step forward?  Maybe two?  Would he call her by name or simply one of the pet names of which he was so fond?

"Belle..."  There was concern and hesitation, there, and perhaps a bit of hope.

Yes, Belle liked to think he would sound hopeful like that.

"Are you unwell?"

So she _hadn't_ imagined him!  Her master had come home and she hadn't even been present enough to witness it, in her state of dreamlike awe.  Belle tried to get her legs to work, but couldn't.  Without meaning to, she began laughing: breathy, slightly tearful chuckles that she couldn't hold back.

"Belle," Rumpelstiltskin said again.  His concern has melted a bit and was rapidly being replaced by a sort of fond amusement.  "Honestly, I leave you alone for five minutes and you work yourself into a tizzy."  He crossed the distance between them, holding out his hand to help her up. 

She accepted the gesture, and with his help got unsteadily to her feet.  Once Belle was standing, however, she gave in to the overwhelming urge to hug him, wrapping her arms round him, her head resting on his shoulder.  Rumpelstiltskin wasn't sure what to do, not quite knowing whether it was a hug or a desperate struggle to remain upright.  Not having any intention of letting her flop over like a spent wineskin if such a thing were likely to occur, he nevertheless realized he had no way of properly holding her, Belle having somewhat pinned his arms to his sides in her enthusiasm (or whatever it was).  But after a moment her grip loosened and she started to cry, so, taking a risk, Rumpelstiltskin moved to gently brace her back and stroke her hair, a genuine smile on his face, though Belle couldn't see it.

"Are you displeased with your gift, then?" he asked, unable to resist fishing for compliments.

"Oh," Belle sobbed uncontrollably.  "Rumpelstiltskin, you have made me a very happy woman.  No one has ever...  done anything like this...  just for...  _me_...  before!" She couldn't help her tears; Belle hadn't honestly expected that he would remember her request for a simple bookshelf.  A bookshelf would have been greatly appreciated, but _this_?  This seemed far too much and just right all at once.

He rocked her slowly, with care, until her breathing leveled; he then gently pulled back from her to see her face.  "There now, you obviously need some time to compose yourself.  I could smell your delicious cooking from the front hall—how about I bring some up for you so you can have dinner up here and get used to the place?  I want you to take all the time that you need." Rumpelstiltskin was still beaming with genuine pride that his gift had gone over so well.  "The chores can wait for tonight... in fact, I'll do the washing-up."

Rumpelstiltskin broke off their embrace but she kept hold of his hand.  It was the first time that her touch had willfully lingered and he hesitated, not wanting to let go, either.  Seeing their hands intertwined made him smirk a bit more impishly to himself. 

Belle felt quite unable to speak, but her tears had subsided.  She looked at him thankfully, wiping away her tears with her free hand.  "S...  Stay?"  she asked, shyly. 

For the first time since coming home, Rumpelstiltskin began feeling uncomfortable in the sudden closeness.  He nodded curtly, gazing off into nothingness and then allowing himself to be led to one of the armchairs.  He seemed to come to his senses, chiding himself. _Comforting her, embracing her as she cries upon your shoulder, and all you can think of is how well you dramatically presented her with a gift... and yet now she holds your hand and leads you along with her as if you were a childhood playmate, and_ that's _what gives you pause?_

Once he was seated in one of the fireside chairs, Belle left to fetch their supper, insisting that she was fine and that he needn't put himself out for her sake.  Concerned that the flame of the stove might have gone out in her absence, leaving the stew to grow cold and congeal, Belle was relieved to find that it was still steaming when she got back to the kitchen.

Still a bit unsteady after crying, Belle took the stairs back up to the library more slowly and mindfully than she otherwise would have, her mood having brightened considerably and the blotchy flush faded from her cheeks.  She took her time placing their dishes onto one of the little tables, poured each of them a glass of cider from the jug, then went to choose a book for their evening's reading.  She chose a crumbly-edged book with a fanciful purple leather cover:  _Instructive_ _Fables for the Young, to Endure in Their Age._   Belle browsed the table of contents as they ate their dinner, finally deciding on a tale called _The Solitary Sage and his Neighbour_ , receiving a nod of approval from her master, who knew the parable well.


	5. Belle and Rumpelstiltskin Love - The Challenge, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumpelstiltskin asks Belle to a ball.

They sat at the long table, as they had almost every evening for the past year.  The dinner she’d prepared for them was hearty, as always: succulent red meats over a rice pilaf with quail eggs, and a thirst-quenching mead to wash it all down.  Rumpelstiltskin merely made appreciative sounds throughout the meal, hardly speaking to her, which was not terribly out of the ordinary.  When both seemed to have eaten their fill, however, he produced a roll of parchment out of the air, setting it above his plate so that Belle was able to see the beribboned wax seal, already cracked, which had been stamped with a fine and somewhat familiar crest.  Belle peered across the table at it, keenly curious, but her master was obviously waiting for the right moment to discuss whatever the message contained.

After an interim during which Belle cleared their places and fetched their evening tea, Rumpelstiltskin ceremoniously flourished the scroll into his hand and unrolled the crisp, curly-ended length of it, spreading it out on the table in front of him, weighting opposite corners with the cream jug and sugar bowl, respectively.  Rumpelstiltskin cleared his throat pointedly, making it obvious that he intended to read it out; Belle was on the edge of her seat.  Her master rarely shared such private matters with her, and she felt honored to be included.

" _To the Most_ _Honorable Rumpelstiltskin (may fortune favor his endeavors),_ " he read, stifling a chuckle before continuing.  " _Your attendance is most humbly requested at the Alps of Incandescence upon the Twelfth Night—_ that's tomorrow, mind you! _—to witness the Spectacle of Light, a remarkable display of beauty which can only be experienced in our mountainous domain.  The very heavens will brighten and dance in the most dazzling phenomenon known to man, unlike any exhibition the mind can fathom, and, as is customary, the assembled will toast its brilliance._ "  Hiding his smirk behind his hand, Rumpelstiltskin leaned closer to peer at the elaborate script, squinting as if to be sure he had read correctly, "My, they seem quite an ostentatious body!"  Belle laughed, and his eyes flitted to her momentarily, his mouth twitched into a small grin.  “But wait, there's more:

"Ah, here it is, yes." He breathed in deeply and spoke in a dramatic whisper, " _We would be honored to entertain both yourself and an esteemed guest of your acquaintance at our celebration_.”  He resumed conversational volume.  “ _Most_ _gracious regards_ , _et cetera, et cetera,_ titles as long as my arm." Rumpelstiltskin picked up the cream and sugar, allowing the scroll to furl closed, the parchment tube skipping a few inches across the tabletop.  His expectant smile was for Belle, who looked at him with a kind, _Good for you!_ sort of interest.  He kept eye contact, but soon began to fidget under her gaze.  "Well, what do you think, dearie?" he blurted out, his smile no longer reaching his eyes as wariness took over.

Belle sipped her tea and poked at a scone with her spoon.  "Sounds like a very glamorous occasion, and I'm sure you'll find new...  business propositions there."  She smoothed out a smudge in the table with her napkin.  "A grand time, yes, I should think you'd enjoy a nice celebration."  Her expression was pleasant enough, but her master could tell that she’d completely missed the mark.

Rumpelstiltskin gave her a steady look.  "Belle, I....'  He paused, unable to find adequate words. 

He tried again, somewhat stiffly, feeling certain her rejection was imminent. "Dearie, I can bring a _guest_.”  Seeing her still-quizzical gaze, he added, "I haven't known any to withstand my company as long as you have."  His throat was suddenly very dry, but his tea was still too hot to drink, blast it.  "I would be delighted if you would accompany me to this ball."

She stared at him.  Shifting in her chair, Belle seemed to be repeating the invitation in her mind, trying to understand it.  “But what about my obligations?  There's so much to do—”

“They can certainly wait a single evening!  Besides, the contract does not restrict _me_ from anything, least of all my own flights of fancy...”  He said, sounding playfully sinister in his reproach.  Hand over his heart, Rumpelstiltskin spoke with flourish, reminding her with his brazen attitude of a knight about to go on a quest, “I consider it an honorable challenge to take a young lady, so faithful in her duties, and show her the world once in a while.  Forever is a mighty long time to be cooped up here with only myself to entertain you.”

He was inviting teasing and he knew it, but Belle did not tease him.  He froze, waiting.

"A ball?”

“A ball,” he repeated, dropping his hand and his gaze back to his cup, looking at the bits of tea leaves drifting at the bottom. 

“But it's _tomorrow!_ ”  Belle hardly thought she could get her nails properly scrubbed in that amount of time, much less concoct something anywhere near suitable to wear for such an occasion.

“Arrangements can be made.”  Rumpelstiltskin twiddled his fingers, slightly levitating the sugar tongs as if to say, _Magic, remember?_

Belle licked her lips, a nervous gesture.  “All right, but even if I _could_ prepare on such short notice, what do you expect of your guests at events such as this?”

He brightened, his brow relaxing slightly as he considered an answer.  “I suppose it would please me to have you on my arm for entrances and exits.  Aside from that, you are free to roam the ball as you see fit.”  A quick flicker of what could easily be described as hope passed over his face, but his mask was not missing for long.  He glanced away, realizing that Belle was likely to press him for more information; tacit understanding only went so far when it came to social expectations. 

Belle smiled, emboldened. “If I’m to make a proper guest – especially one of Rumpelstiltskin’s choosing – then please, I’d very much like to know what you’d expect of me.”  Sensing the tension she tried to ease it a bit with a little jibe.  “I'd hate to embarrass you in front of your lordly admirers.”

“I…” Rumpelstiltskin shut his mouth, and then opened it again.  “I expect nothing…” he said, examining his fingers.  His gaze shot up to meet hers suddenly, “This is not _freedom_ , you understand.  You are still in my employ and you’re not to leave my presence under any circumstances.”

Belle gave him a sidelong glance but tried to keep her response as smooth as honey.  “Of course, I’m still bound by our contract.  I will never knowingly betray your trust, you know that.”

“Good, good.”  Taking another sip of tea, hoping it would help quench his dry mouth, he haltingly confessed, “If you should find yourself without a dance partner, I’ll not refuse your appeal.”  Did that sound like he was implying Belle would do something so unladylike as to ask a gentleman to dance with _her_ , rather than the other way round?  He didn't want to offend her during so precarious a negotiation.  “Er, that is to say, I wouldn't leave you casting about for someone, or standing against the wall.  I can be quite graceful when the situation calls for it.” He shifted in his chair, trying not to lean forward in obvious anticipation.  “Does that sound agreeable?”

Belle was keenly aware of the fact that not only was this a chance to be outside the castle, _and_ attending a gathering, but on the arm of the most well-known man in all the realms, no less – certainly an idea worthy of consideration!  "To be honest, I've never been much of a one for parties.  I'd prefer a quiet evening in the library to the flaunting and drama of court,” she confessed, feeling a trifle embarrassed.  She noticed her master's overall expression didn't change, but there was something in his eyes that made Belle worry that she was letting him down.  “But," she added, "this Spectacle thing sounds like a fascinating event.  May I get back to you in half an hour, perhaps?"

Rumpelstiltskin deflated slightly, his smile faltering around the edges.  He tried to keep the disappointment from his features but she could see it threatening his calm; clearly, he had wanted her to automatically agree.

“Of course.”  He rose from the table—not waiting, as he usually did for her to clear the dishes and leave—and retired to his spinning wheel to beget more gold.

 _I like to watch the wheel, helps me forget,_ he had told her once….

Belle watched, wondering if she’d said something to upset him.  _Fantastic, now you've offended the_ _Dark One.  That was foolish._

Something which she had cultivated during time at the Dark Castle was an appreciation for small talk.  Her former studies had included many a lecture on courtesy, but serving under Rumpelstiltskin, one could not have had a better practical lesson in the benefits of politeness and strategic remarks.  Belle had learned, in regard to her master specifically, when to agree, when to respectfully disagree, and when to keep silent—though because his personal rules of conversation seemed so different from others she had known, Belle still occasionally miss-stepped.

Gathering the dishes from their meal and trying to act as if she hadn't made him cross, Belle felt all aflutter inside at the thought of enjoying the following evening on his arm, seeing him in fine attire, earning his smile lit by the dazzling lights over the mountain.

She soon realized that she couldn’t imagine _not_ going.  Her face flushed and her breath caught at the knowledge that she truly wanted to go, and that wanting to get away from the castle was the _least_ compelling aspect of the invitation.  She wanted to be by his side, letting him show off that even his shrewd, malevolent nature could be tempered by appropriate companions, and perhaps, with that understanding, people wouldn't be so afraid of Rumpelstiltskin. 

She wondered if parties were as much a challenge for him as they were a trial for her.  Could it be that he wanted this as a treat for himself, as well as a means of letting Belle have an evening away?  She tried not to draw strong parallels to their favorite fable, the Scorpion and Frog, and instead to just remember the lesson it taught.  After all, he was not cruel by nature, or at least he didn't seem so—hadn’t he practiced that much, carried it as his shield?

It would be a far cry from those giddy tales of romance and famous royal courtships throughout history about which Belle had read, and her stand-in prince was certainly not as high-born as others who would be in attendance (nor was she, for that matter, being only a country lord's daughter)... but despite the circumstances, Belle was eager to experience an evening like something out of a story.  _What a charming pair the two of them would make!_   As she tried to imagine what Rumpelstiltskin might wear, and an image of him in a large, starchy ruff popped into her head, Belle's giggle became persistent until she had to set down some of what she was gathering from the table so she could cover her mouth with her hand, not wanting to disturb her master.

There was the sound of the spindle behind her stopping abruptly, and Belle's heart skipped a beat as she realized he must have wondered what made her laugh.  Did he think she was amused at his expense, or cruelly rebuffing what might have been, at least from his perspective, something akin to an _advance_?  Peering over her shoulder, she saw that when he realized she was looking he began to busy himself with untangling something that wasn't tangled at all, intentionally not looking in her direction as the spinning began anew. 

“Sir?” she said as warmly as she could, turning her full gaze to him at his wheel.  He stopped spinning and looked at her in a resigned sort of way, having predicted rejection.  A teasing smile broke upon her face in response to his dour attitude.  “I would be delighted to accompany you to the ball tomorrow.”

Rumpelstiltskin stood quite suddenly, barking his shin on part of the spinning wheel, his hands fluttering at his sides.  “You would?”  At her nod, he giggled to himself.  “Well, of _course_ you would, excellent!  I’ll need to prepare for our journey.”

He was practically out of the room before she called his name.  “But I have nothing to wear!”

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes began to glimmer as he made his way back to her side.  “If you would allow it, I can provide you with a dress that will dazzle even the dullest among us, and I will give you an evening you will never forget.”  He bowed low to her, and offered his hand.  When she gave her own, he laid a glistening lily in her palm.  “A promise of beauty,” he purred at her.  “Put this flower in water this evening and in the morning you will have the garment I speak of, and so long as you feel it suits you, we will shortly thereafter prepare to take our leave.”

He began to walk away when she caught his arm.  It still bothered him how much he was getting used to Belle taking hold of him at all.  “Another problem?” he said, lightly but with an undercurrent of fatigue.

“I appreciate everything you’ve been able to do for me, but I’m not as comfortable around magic as you are.” She bit her lip, wishing she didn't have to admit her unease.  “A magic dress is … too much.”  Belle fretted.  He truly could summon anything for her, but this felt unnatural, somehow, to accept a dress somehow grown from a lily.  _How silly of me to all but demand something made of real fabrics, with proper petticoats and all!  He must think me terribly ungrateful._

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated, leaning away from her slightly as if she’d shoved him.  “Well, the ball is tomorrow, dearie.  Surely there’s no time to allow for a _seamstress_ to be called.  The specifications I have in mind would take months—possibly _years_ —to perfect,” he said with pride, but he faltered when he saw reproach in her eyes.  “All right, a woven dress it is.  Consider it done.”

With a snap of his fingers, a large cupboard appeared at the end of the table.  Belle gave a little start, taking his hand without realizing it.  Rumpelstiltskin grasped her elbow, steadying here but snickering in his excitement.  It was a wardrobe, she soon realized, taller than both of them; it seemed quite old, with heavy oaken doors, elaborately gilded with acanthus designs picked out in gold leaf.  Walking over to it, dropping her master's hand as absently as she’d clung to it, Belle couldn’t help running a finger along the age-weathered, carved surface.

Rumpelstiltskin joined her, smiling more to himself than at her and lowered his eyes when he asked, “Are you _sure_ you wouldn’t prefer the lily?”  He flicked his gaze over to where she had set it on the table.  “It would be so unique—no dress like it in all of recorded history, that sort of thing.  No?”  She shook her head, excited now to see what was in the wardrobe.  “As you wish.”  With a flourish, the doors opened, revealing a gown the likes of which Belle had never seen. 

It was made with a sea-foam satin, but much glossier and finer than any satin she'd ever known.  If she looked away or glanced at it from the corner of her eye, she noted a strange iridescence in the material, but couldn’t place exactly where on the surface it was.  The whole garment reminded her of the glowing pearl-like colors of Rumpelstiltskin’s bedchamber, almost as if it was somehow a part of the castle.  She glanced quickly at her master, waiting for a curt nod of approval, and then ran her hand along the shape of the full skirt, smoothing out the ruffles and learning the drape of the fabric.

She could hardly contain her excitement.  “Wherever did it _come_ from?” she bubbled, examining the sleeves and the way the shoulders fell.

“Why, I made it!”  said Rumpelstiltskin indignantly.  “I struck a deal with a mighty king who ruled over a vast ocean.  His payment to me was one hundred thousand seashells and pearls.”  His fingers played with the pearls that studded the neckline and, reluctantly, he yielded for her examine them as well.  "The glint you see here, and here," he indicated the tiny gems she hadn’t noticed before, and, when moved in the candlelight, they threw bright fractals onto the table.  “These little stones are called opals, a gift from a far-off land in return for their safety.”

“For whom did you make this?”  She leaned close to examine the tiny pearls, each perfect in its imperfections, some oblong and lumpy but all of them a prize.  The accents were done with such care, the finely-arranged gathers and stitching of the sleeves showed the work of a true craftsman's hand.  She felt like she could breathe in the sea air if she got close enough, but she didn’t want to be caught in her frivolity.

“No one in particular,” he shrugged, sounding uncharacteristically humble.  “It was something to pass the time, dearie.  I’ve had quite a lot of time to learn many a skill.”  Wiggling his eyebrows at her, he took the dress from where it hung and held it up, looking back and forth between the dress and Belle.  “If you would allow me _a little_ bit of magic, I can adjust the fit of it to suit your figure.”

Belle nodded and a purple coil of smoke materialized between them, swirling round her from head to foot before it ran through the threads of the gown, adjusting here and there until it was just right for her.  Handing her the garment, Rumpelstiltskin shooed her off to try it on.

* * *

In her cell, Belle had made quite a comfortable home for herself.  She’d kept the straw mattress tidy, and lined the floors with straw so that when she walked, her feet would not get cold or damp.  She’d worked some hooks into the crumbly mortar between the stones behind the door so she might hang her few garments rather than risk wrinkles by bundling them into her one, small chest at the foot of her bed.

Belle hung the splendid gown on one of the hooks to once again marvel at its exquisite craftsmanship.  She leaned in close to see if she _could_ actually smell the ocean, as she had fancied, and was surprised to find a faint fireside scent, and the crispness of good soap, similar to the perfumed sachets in Rumpelstiltskin's wardrobes. 

She could hardly believe she would be wearing this tomorrow night!  Belle wondered where a lonesome man like Rumpelstiltskin had gotten the inkling to make an evening gown, especially one in so elaborate a style, an article of clothing completely impractical for a man without a woman in his life.  (Belle realized that she technically counted, but not the sort of Woman In His Life to whom men like her master would devote so much time and effort.)

Stepping into the dress, Belle gingerly loosened, adjusted and cinched until she was settled into the bodice.  The lacing, which went up the front and was hidden by a finely-embroidered brocade stomacher, was clearly positioned so that the wearer could put it on themselves without the assistance of a lady's maid.  _Well, I guess he’s not utterly impractical after all,_ she thought with a grin.  She twirled a little in the cramped space, the gems catching the lamplight and casting little reflected sparkles on the dull stone walls.  The row of pearls at the neckline caressed her skin, securing the top of the bodice snugly to her as if lovingly guarding her modesty.  Every bend and twist was like rubbing a smooth stone against her skin, and the silken petticoats swished against her legs like a soft breeze.  She smiled so broadly her face began to hurt.  _What a picture they would make together…._

Some time later when she returned to the dining hall, she had changed back into her work clothes and was carrying the dress at arm's length from her body.  A moment of worry crossed Rumpelstiltskin’s face, but Belle offered him the dress and smiled largely at him.  “It fits wonderfully, but I didn’t want to risk dirtying it on the dungeon stairs.  Thank you, it’s a wonderful loan, and I’ll make sure to keep it in perfect state.”

He smiled at her, fond puzzlement again clouding his features as he marveled at how particular she was, when surely she must have known that he could reverse a dusty hem or a loose thread with no more than a thought.  Sighing and returning to his spinning, he wished her a happy cleaning frenzy before he allowed his attention to become fully absorbed by his task at the wheel.

 


	6. Belle and Rumpelstiltskin Love - Superstition - Part 2

Rumpelstiltskin smoothed his palms down the thighs of his trousers in an effort to dry the sweat from them.  His faintly-patterned black trousers matched his boots, and his hair was coiffed, for once, in such a way as to frame his face rather than conceal it.  Donning a dark blue tailcoat with a sea-foam waistcoat and cravat to match Belle’s gown, Rumpelstiltskin had done his utmost to appear a dapper gentleman showing a lady his esteem, complimenting her—both visually, if not verbally—as much as he could.

The notion felt alien to him, never having been the sort to attend balls himself.  _Not as a guest,_ he smirked slyly, admiring his finery.  He had never been a proper gentleman, nor had a woman truly willing to let him dote on her before.  He shifted his weight from foot to foot in anticipation of her appearance on the stairs and, just as he began to fidget with his tailcoat again, the clock struck the hour they were meant to leave.

Right on time, Belle arrived at the top of the stairs and slowly made her way to the foyer, careful of the full skirt of her gown.  Rumpelstiltskin looked up at Belle and seemed feel his tight-reined control slackening, slipping away.  Belle only saw it for an instant, but an instant was enough to print the image indelibly on her mind: her master, with unmasked affection and kindness in his eyes as he looked upon her.  She noted how his features softened about his lips and cheeks, the harsh lines then seeming more from many smiles than from sneering, and the tilt of his brow seemed almost noble, graceful, and Belle caught herself mentally describing it as _dreamy_.  Her lips parted in surprise at her own thoughts, and she could feel her cheeks color as she reminded herself that it was an occasion for ladylike modesty—not her usual forthrightness.

Rumpelstiltskin, at first, struggled to find the logic in how Belle looked so much more alluring now than she had a few short hours prior, when he had already thought her to be quite pretty then.  Not one to be fooled by appearances, Rumpelstiltskin knew that even in a simple dress and a sheen of dust, Belle was striking in her beauty, though such circumstances allowed him to ignore that truth.  But it was an entirely different matter to see that beauty brought to the forefront, displayed to its best advantage!  Now that Belle was in that dress, looking far beyond gorgeous and far better than Rumpelstiltskin could have imagined anyone else looking in such a garment, something clicked: this girl, this _noble_ girl had given up a life tailored for such peerless beauty, in order to protect her people.  He now understood, properly, the full weight of such a sacrifice.

He was accepting her as she was, and that frightened him for the briefest of moments.  If she’d been spoiled, if she’d been wretched company in some way, or utterly ignorant and fearful, he never would have had the chance to see this side of her… or himself.  It irritated him slightly that his payment was starting to feel more like a gift.

Rumpelstiltskin made a show of looking away as he waited for her to take his arm, affecting a cool aloofness that she would perhaps find amusing: a mockery of the modern gentleman.  They escorted each other more than anything else; and Rumpelstiltskin helped her into the waiting carriage.  The driver was not impolite to them, but clearly had his hands full trying to keep the horses steady as the Dark One took seat in his carriage and closed the door.

Rumpelstiltskin looked at Belle again, taking in her beauty all in the briefest of glances, a more judgmental, appraising look now than the one before, his mask back in place.  He tapped on the roof of the carriage to signal that they were ready, and the driver goaded the horses into action.  Belle wanted to look out of the window but he was still staring at her, drumming his fingers on the windowsill across from her, and obviously wanted her attention; thus, Belle shelved her curiosity for a little while yet.

Her master laughed to himself.  “You look quite stunning, milady.  I fear our fellow party guests will have trouble watching the skies!”  His smile was prideful and devilish, but he seemed to be genuinely pleased with her.  “Only…” he leaned forward conspiratorially, “Would you pardon an old beast his indulgences?”

Belle nodded, speechless, although she hated it when he called himself that.  Gingerly leaning forward, Rumpelstiltskin fluffed her hair a bit more than it already had been and affixed a small, jeweled comb in place to provocatively emphasize the cluster of curls.  “Oh, good, there she is, the envy of all!”

“Well that’s not fair, Rumpelstiltskin, I can’t see what you’ve done!” She mock-pouted at him and he looked mock-wounded at her.

“I assure you, dearie, you look an absolute treat.”

Oddly, Belle found that not only did she trust his judgment in that regard, but she felt a little spark of happiness fizz inside her when he voiced his approval.  Wasn’t it only a few short months ago that she still cringed from his touch, nervous and on-guard whenever in his company?

They exchanged few words in the carriage ride to the Alps, as the roads—some of which felt like no more than a rough track—were noisy and bumpy.  Belle asked him about the expectations of court behavior in their hosts’ kingdom, wanting to make sure that she would not embarrass either of them, and her master’s response implied that her upbringing in court would have taught her all she needed to know to safely navigate the evening.

When they arrived (earlier than Belle had expected), she felt as prepared and as confident as she ever was; taking Rumpelstiltskin’s arm, she exited the carriage, careful not to tangle her skirt in the curly metalwork of the flip-down steps. 

She looked back—beyond the long, smooth drive and the palace gates—at the road they had traversed, and gasped, clasping Rumpelstiltskin in earnest.  “How did we not topple off the side of the mountain?”  The road behind them wound around one of the mountains for which the Alps were named.  It had clearly crumbled away in places, rockslides or other such natural phenomena having eroded the ancient route, and she couldn't have imagined anything but magic keeping them from certain death.

Rumpelstiltskin only laughed at her bemusement, though not unkindly, tipping the carriage driver handsomely before they made their way along the ranks of waiting carriages bedecked with the liveries of many noble houses.  “When a carriage rides concealing me, the road knows it is well protected, and lets it pass.  Not only that,” he shrugged, “but I’m carrying my invitation.  Those who live in this palace don’t fancy having uninvited guests, and their surrounding environs attest to that.  If we hadn’t been invited, it would have been much more treacherous to venture here.”

Unable to help glancing over her shoulder again, anxiety after the fact making her tremble, Belle bit her lip, frowning at the horses trussed to their carriage.  “ _They_ don’t seem to enjoy it much, either.”

Rumpelstiltskin frowned as well, hearing the whinnying horses begin to calm as he moved farther and farther away.  “That may not be the fault of the road—animals can sense when something is wrong far more keenly than any man.  I might put off a man, make him quake in his bones, make him wonder about his safety, but some see no harm in me lest I reveal my true nature.  To a lower beast, however, I’m most certainly a threat, no matter how well-behaved I may be when they encounter me.”  

A forlorn smile took hold of him, as if he was very far away from her at that moment.  “Beasts, we smell our own, and we know when to run.”  Belle found herself unwilling to look upon him, then, for in one sidelong glance she saw that his eyes had turned fully black, blank and unsettling.  Noticing her anxiety, Rumpelstiltskin relaxed and greeted her with a tender smile and the green eyes she’d come to depend on.  “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to ease their fear, except to relieve them of their service as quickly as possible.”  Stepping up the grand stairway, he nodded to the doormen who swung wide the iron-clad doors and, winking at her, Rumpelstiltskin carefully helped Belle over the threshold into the entrance hall.

* * *

It seemed to take longer to get into the castle proper than it took to reach the mountains by carriage.  Belle was no weakling—months and months of working in the Dark Castle had made her limbs stronger than they’d ever been—and yet she was breathing heavily when they finally neared the end of the long marble entrance hall and fetched up against a queue of couples waiting to be announced and let into the grand chambers where the ball would take place.

Rumpelstiltskin stopped a moment, straightening his cravat and making sure his cuffs were in order, letting Belle catch her breath.

“How do you do this all the time?”

“Mm?” He looked up from fiddling with his pocket square, inquisitively, cocking his head to the side, the mischievous smile a show for the other guests, Belle supposed, as she was now far more used to his more natural expressions.

Belle took out her fan and wafted cool air against her face, trying to keep from perspiring.  “Make yourself presentable before making an entrance—especially after traipsing halfway across the realm like that?”

She had begun worrying with her hair, certain that it looked a fright, and Rumpelstiltskin gently came over to her side, fixing it as it he had before.  “I’m usually far more transportable, dearie; I prefer to make little shreds in what Is, and slip through them into what Isn’t, though I’ve never had to do so in an evening gown of such voluminousness, or indeed any manner of gown at all.  I figured it would be far more comfortable for you to travel in a more traditional way—not to mention more stylish.” He straightened his jacket with one final tug and, making sure Belle’s hair was in order once more, turned and stepped forward as the line of couples moved.

Just as Belle was about to ask if he was being honest or simply toying with her, their turn came and they were announced to the grand hall within, their names read off a scroll by a footman with a sonorous voice.  Belle put on a brave face and strode into the ballroom, arm linked with her master’s, as the couples who had queued behind them began to whisper amongst themselves: _Was that really Sir Maurice’s daughter with the Dark One?  I thought surely she would have died by now, in the service of that monster!  What unmitigated gall, to show her face in court after such an unsavory bargain!_ One lady’s voice, quite close at hand, clearly hissed: _strumpet!_

* * *

Rumpelstiltskin seemed to be on rather precarious terms with their hosts, the King and Queen of the Alps, though he smiled at them as if they were old friends as he presented them with gifts conjured out of thin air.  To both king and Queen he gave a chest, likely containing spun gold, as well as smaller chests and toys for each of their children (two princesses and a small prince barely off Her Majesty’s milk, all three of whom had already been put to bed for the evening).  Belle hung back, feeling as if she wasn’t a part of the exchange and ought to be silent, though the Queen gave her a sympathetic, almost pitying smile over her husband’s shoulder as he and Rumpelstiltskin traded tense words regarding the gifts.

The atmosphere lightened minutely as Rumpelstiltskin returned to Belle’s side, taking her hand with reverence and leading her to a cluster of tables, far to the left of the royal dais.

“I take it they aren’t very happy we came,” she whispered into his ear, keeping a smile on her face so as not to appear that she was dissatisfied with their hosts.  She glanced around at the ballroom; staggeringly high ceilings, every glorious color bedecking their hollows and arches and cross-beams, though the overwhelming impression was of white, if not simply _light_.  Other guests, engrossed in their own conversations, studiously avoided her gazes and polite nods, as if by catching her eye they would burst into flame, though Belle sensed that they stared back at her the instant she looked away.

Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulders tensed and an odd sensation moved along his spine when he allowed himself to fully comprehend Belle’s proximity, never having had her so close, intentionally, for so long.  For a fleeting instant, realization took him that he could really _see_ Belle tonight, for perhaps the first time, and a desire to cling to her rose up in him without his consent.

Deflecting, taking a slow breath, he hid his feelings behind exasperation with their hosts.  “They aren’t very happy that _I_ came, dearie.  It has little to do with _you_.”  He pulled out a chair for her at one of the tables and sat as near to her as he could without appearing unseemly.  “They invite me every year as a gesture of goodwill, but I am known for my… reclusive nature.  I rarely make appearances in court unless I am truly needed.” He sat at the edge of his chair, as if refusing to become comfortable in the company of so many strangers.

They had settled on the outskirts of the enormous room, on the border between the main gathering and those who had no desire to participate but were obliged to be there; at nearby tables an elderly earl and his wife were bickering quietly, a dowager duchess knitted surreptitiously in her lap, and a group of young boys, of an age where they are considered as potential suitors but still have no interest in girls, shoved one another and told jokes.  There was a grand balcony to Belle’s right, behind closed glass-paned doors, with a view over the mountainous landscape, so many miles of which were so sharply visible in the cold night air that it seemed she could almost reach out and touch the far-off peaks.  To her left, across the parquet dance-floor, was a large table set into an alcove, from which waiters in crisp livery came and went, bearing silver trays of sparkling wines, canapés, truffles and tarts; the waiters hardly made it ten feet into the room before having to turn back and restock their trays.

“Are they always this hungry?”  Belle asked sheepishly, out of the corner of her mouth. 

Rumpelstiltskin turned to see what she was looking at.  “Ah, well, the Alps are experiencing a cold and dry season.  Fresh food is very scarce here—at this time of year, they usually subsist on salted meats, preserves, and the like.  But the Spectacle of Light has been held for many generations, as a means of giving the people hope to outlast the winter.  The royals spend months preparing for this event, importing delicacies from all over the realm.”

“If they have so little to go around, why invite people from the other kingdoms?”

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged.  “One of the most treasured virtues among the people here is generosity.  Even when you have but little, you offer to share it with your neighbors without a second thought.”

Belle smiled and thought more pleasantly on their hosts, even though it seemed silly for them to be so terse with someone after having invited them out of a spirit of generosity and goodwill.

Her curiosity getting the best of her, Belle politely excused herself in order to venture from their pleasant, if secluded, table.  She tried some of the delicacies from passing trays, and brought her favorites to Rumpelstiltskin on a little plate for his keen palate to tell her what they were.  Most he knew on sight but there were a few he tried and explained to her.  “Thinking of adding a little regional flair to your cooking?” he teased.  “These sorts of dishes are quite difficult to master—which, come to think of it, is probably why they’re handed out in such tiny portions!”

“Oh, I’ve quite a lot of time to learn new skills, if you hadn’t noticed,” she replied, almost winking at him.  He rewarded her with a grin that tugged low in her gut, something that pleased her very much but she didn’t quite understand what it was.  Her smile faltered a little and her breath caught again, only this time she couldn’t turn her head to conceal it from him due to their seating arrangement, feeling too close and yet not close enough.  Feeling trapped, needing to move, Belle got to her feet once more.

His brow knitted.  “Something wrong?” he looked around him, as if there was a threat in some dark corner he could not see.

“No, not at all, I’m fine.”  But was she? She didn’t understand what this was; she almost felt faint except her breath was (mostly) regular and her posture strong and steady.  Perhaps what she needed was a distraction.  She smiled brighter but it didn’t reach her eyes.  “I believe you promised me a dance…?”

Rumpelstiltskin swallowed. “My dear, you’d only need _me_ for a dance partner if…”

“If I found myself without,” she twirled on the spot in her mesmerizing dress, looking, half-heartedly though with amusement, for someone to dance with her.  “Well, am I overrun with requests?  I don’t seem to be very popular just now.  I see no one here but you.  Would you be so bold as to weasel out of your promise?”

She watched how her master’s eyes lingered on the dress and he looked flabbergasted at her.  “As you wish,” he conceded, getting up and taking her hands in his.  He led Belle to the dance-floor, just as the music struck up a lively schottische, and he blithely led her around the floor.

“Y’know,” he said as they went through the turning steps, not in the least out of breath despite the quick pace of the dance.  “They’re all probably too afraid of me to ask you to dance with them.”  He spun her, entranced momentarily by how the light shimmered off the fabric of her skirt.  “I should have known that would be a problem.”  He forced a laugh, trying to sound less regretful than he was.  “I feel I’ve done you yet another disservice, milady.”

“You save my village, offer me eternal youth and health, bring me to see the Alps of Incandescence in a fascinating dress that’s sure to be the envy of everyone here, including the royal house—” She drew a few breaths, using her free hand to retrieve her fan and cool her brow for a moment before they reached another of the hopping sections.  “How have you done me a disservice?”

He didn’t reply; the dance ended and they bowed to one another, looking round to see some of the other couples separating to seek new partners, or young bucks cutting in to claim noble daughters for the next dance.  As the quartet shuffled their sheet music and warmed into the opening strains of a waltz, Belle felt a flutter of panic: there was no time to wait for another partner to find her, and so she was resigned (though not unhappily) to dance with her master.  Rumpelstiltskin, coming to the same silent realization, gave Belle an apologetic shrug, as if to say, _I wouldn’t put you through this if there were any other choice._

“Would you prefer to sit this one out?” he asked, with the merest hint of hope that she wouldn’t.

“Papa would _never_ let me waltz,” said Belle with a sort of rebellious delight.  “You wouldn’t deprive a girl of her only chance, would you?”

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled, and agreed, but felt something flutter in his chest as he took Belle’s hand and placed his other hand on her waist.

The waltz, which was slightly melancholy in a minor key, took them all around the ballroom in all different angles. 

Even though the waltz only lasted a few minutes, Belle felt herself in a never-ending spin of sensation in his arms.  She hadn’t allowed herself to imagine how it would feel to have his hand resting against her side, to twirl and know that he kept her straight and even in her steps.  He was quite a dancer, which surprised her, and despite how scandalous everyone knew the waltz to be, she hadn’t realized how intimate she would feel while actually doing it.  It was as if they were the only ones present, the vast ballroom empty save for the music and the two of them, spinning in gradually travelling shapes across the glossy floor.  As she studied his face, unabashed (though her face was flushed— _from the last dance_ , she swore to herself, _I’m not blushing_ ), Belle realized that she no longer saw his features as monstrous; her master’s appearance was strange, yes, but like an exotic plant is strange to one who has tended the same ordinary garden year after year.  She liked the way his skin seemed almost metallic, the way his hair—tamed, for once, to go with his finery—seemed no longer to be kinked and wild, but glossy, with a hint of curl at the ends.

Rumpelstiltskin began, as well, to feel a new kind of breathlessness that had nothing to do with the dance itself, and he was certainly struggling to remember himself and the others in the hall, so absorbed was he by Belle’s loveliness.  He felt laid open by her gaze, as if she were able to see past his carefully-constructed persona, past his behavior even as her (somewhat indulgent) master, down to parts of himself that were hidden and raw.  It wasn’t unpleasant, but it startled him to feel so exposed—more so, to feel as if Belle might someday truly _understand_.

When the waltz drew to a close, every eye was upon them as he dipped Belle, with a flourish that made her eyes brighten with a surprised smile.

It was too similar to that morning when he held her below the curtain, breaking her fall.  They were too close, yet again, and he was, without meaning to, getting lost in her eyes.  Slowly, he brought her back to a standing position; they both had a moment to collect themselves enough to bow appreciatively towards the musicians’ podium at the far end of the ballroom.  Belle and Rumpelstiltskin  sheepishly looked at one another and then away, as if suddenly remembering their roles.

“I believe I need some air.”  Belle made her way off the dance-floor to the balcony beyond the glass-paned doors, just as one of the royals stood at the dais and began announcing something that Belle didn’t quite catch over the rustle of dresses and the click of shoes.  Rumpelstiltskin followed her at a polite distance, unsure as to whether she wished his company or not.

The other guests soon began to file out onto the long, broad terrace which flanked the ballroom; the show was, apparently, about to begin.  Belle tried to keep her breathing steady and calm down, leaning against a massive urn near the center of the balcony, between two of the glass doors.  Rumpelstiltskin hovered near her, though far enough away to give her space, exuding a sense of protectiveness; several gentlemen, emerging onto the balcony with the rest of the guests, became quite interested in looking at their hands, their shoes, the landscape, anything to not catch the Dark One’s or his lady companion’s eye.

Rumpelstiltskin hadn’t bargained on his unwillingness to share Belle’s attention with others that evening; what sort of man was so greedy with a woman’s company, so afraid that someone might snatch her away as he stood by helplessly? _A coward,_ he thought with disdain.  He cleared his throat, glancing over at Belle to signal that he intended to wander over to the edge of the balcony—the intent, of course, to leave Belle alone with her thoughts without her overbearing master complicating things.

One of the young boys they had seen roughhousing earlier had wandered onto the balcony, as well, his friends hanging back a few feet behind him.  The boy seemed to steel himself for a moment, then strode up to Rumpelstiltskin and looked him square in the eye.

“Alfwin says that _you’re_ the Dark One.”

Rumpelstiltskin raised an eyebrow at him.  “Only on Thursdays.  What are you called, little chap?”

The boy glanced over his shoulder at his friends, who were lingering in the doorway from whence he had come.  Two of them looked frightened for his sake; the third looked smug.  “My name’s Owain.  Is it true that you eat babies?”

“Whomever told you that?”

“My tutor told me.  He also said you skin virgins to make your boots.”

Rumpelstiltskin chuckled.  “I do nothing of the kind, my good man!  Your tutor was likely trying to scare you.”

Owain scrunched up his freckly nose.  “You don’t _seem_ scary.  My aunt is far scarier.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” said Rumpelstiltskin, leaning down to whisper it in his ear (making the other small boys cringe with vicarious fright).  “I’m not _really_ a monster.  I just like people to think so.”

“Why, though?  That duke’s daughter Olive thought I was mean once, and it caused all sorts of problems.”

“ _Well_ ,’ Rumpelstiltskin said contemplatively, standing back up and speaking at a conversational volume once more, “I have a lot of very useful skills, you know.  If people thought I was a kind man, there would be no end of sad-sacks lining up at my door to ask me to do things for them out of the goodness of my heart.”  He shrugged a little.  “But if I act like a dreadful old grouch _until_ somebody needs my help, then they’re more willing to accept an offer if I give them very reasonable terms, because they were expecting much worse.  Do you see?”

Owain made another highly expressive face.  “I _guess_.  But doesn’t being a grouch mean you don’t have any friends?”

“I have _one_ friend,” Rumpelstiltskin replied.  “That’s enough for me.”  He smiled at Owain and rumpled his hair, making a nearby cluster of ladies gasp and clutch their handkerchiefs to their bosoms in alarm.  Rumpelstiltskin sighed; why did people always have to remind him, at moments when he felt the most normal, that he was still an outcast?

“Run along,” he told the boy, “tell your friends you won their wager—and that I told you a dark and spooky secret that you’ll never reveal upon pain of death.”

Owain nodded, eyes wide and impressed.  “Thanks, Mister Dark One.”

When Rumpelstiltskin was alone again, he stood up straight and looked up at the darkened sky.  Tiny streams of light, like bubbles along the surface of a wine glass, were effervescing from the blackness, expanding into thick ribbons of dazzling colors.  Some of the assembled guests clapped  and _ooh_ -ed, although not many of the ones nearest to him.  The lights in the sky began to take shape, creating almost fluid waves of luminescence, wicking across the heavens as if the celestial bodies had upturned other-worldy ink across a page.  Rumpelstiltskin saw every color he’d ever seen in his long life, and a few he hadn’t: pinks, blues and greens that bled into each other to become turquoise, smoky quartz, stark and almost painful white, something which was quite obviously the color of happiness, dark purple like his magic, fool’s gold, spun gold, the color of blood, new shades emerging ceaselessly from moment to moment as the ribbons of light mingled.

A glimmer, closer at hand, caught his eye: some of the surrounding crowd were gasping, and he turned to see Belle, who appeared to be rather unnerved to be in the center of the mass of people.  The colored lights in the sky were shimmering and reflecting in her dress, causing her to glow.  Rumpelstiltskin raised a hand to his face in surprise, beaming with pride as those watching Belle seemed to appreciate her beauty and forget, for the moment, that they had been scorning Belle not long before for her association with the Dark One.  Belle caught her master’s eye and, realizing that she might as well make the best of the attention, began to turn slowly and reflect the light back to the people gathered round her.  There was a collective sigh from the crowd, smitten with the spectacle, Belle’s smile almost as bright as her dress. 

There was no way to be sure what made the scene turn from awe to distrust, as the change was so gradual.  Rumpelstiltskin noticed that many of the assembled seemed, after an initial reaction of delight, to be wary of how Belle was capturing so much attention.  A low murmur swept through the crowd as people’s suspicious glances darted between Belle, Rumpelstiltskin, the King and Queen, and the sky.

The King--still within the ballroom proper, just visible to Rumpelstiltskin over the heads of the crowd—made a subtle gesture to one of the royal attendants, nodding almost imperceptibly towards Belle.  Quick-footed and quiet, the attendant and several of his fellows wove their way amongst the crowd of guests, placing themselves at strategic points so that Belle was effectively surrounded.  A surge of panic caught Rumpelstiltskin off-guard, and almost without thinking he materialized at Belle’s side.

“I see they plan to escort us out!  How thoughtful of them to help us avoid the rush.”  He took Belle’s arm, and she gave him a nervous look, clutching his hand.  “Don’t worry, dearie, I’ve got you.”

Two guards emerged from doors on either side of them, and gently but sternly led them back into the ballroom to where the royals stood, nodding in some semblance of greeting.  Belle recognized their stance as one her father often took when showing people he didn’t like the minimal amount of courtesy.  Belle saw out of the corner of her eye that the farther she progressed into the room, the more light faded from her dress, the dazzling garment looking oddly dull without the sky’s reflection in its fabric.

The King stepped forward, his regal brow furrowed with consternation and more than a little anger.  “Rumpelstiltskin, you have honored us with your presence and your fine gifts, but now we must ask you to leave.  We will not tolerate such shameless chicanery in this court.”

Rumpelstiltskin narrowed his eyes and thought about turning the man into the complete ass he appeared to be.  _How dare he speak in such a manner—and in front of my companion, at that!_  

Rumpelstiltskin knew, despite the intense desire to smite the arrogant bastard where he stood, that he ought to control his temper, if only for Belle’s sake.  And so, with great practice, he bowed low, finding that he had to drag Belle with him. 

He then turned to leave, ushering Belle to follow, but Belle shrugged off his arm.  “Your majesties, with all due respect, we are merely present to enjoy a remarkable occasion which can only be experienced from your mountain palace.  If you were not desirous of our attendance, you should not have invited us.  You have been nothing but rude to your _honored_ guest and his companion.  If such coarse treatment is what one may expect from your honor, we want no part in it!” With that she turned and took Rumpelstiltskin’s arm again, heading for the broad double-doors at a swift and irritable pace.

Turning to look back at the baffled royals with a smirk and a good-natured shrug, Rumpelstiltskin allowed Belle to haul him out of their presence.

“No one decides your fate but you,” he murmured to himself, obviously in awe of his lady. 

Once they were out of the ballroom and making their way along the seemingly endless, deserted entrance hall, a wave of nervous mirth took them both and they found themselves quite helpless with laughter, breaking into a run like children at play.  Their laughter echoed round the cavernous chamber as they raced each other to the door, Belle quite pleased to have insisted on comfortable, flat dancing shoes rather than the more fashionable heels that most ladies favored.

“I’m not entirely sure what just happened,” she said, out of breath from their sprint as she leaned against the balustrade of wide marble stair which led to the carriage drive.  He conjured a quick little ball of light that was tossed up into the air to light their way, for the greenish lamps which lined the drive were few and far between.  “Oh, thank you, I didn’t fancy trying to find our carriage in this dim.”  She gave him a sheepish look.  “So, do you know?”

“Know what, dearie?”

“What just happened?”  Belle crossed her arms, wishing her dress had come with some sort of fur wrap; the evening mountain air was making her shiver.  “I honestly feel like we could have started a war just then, but it seems ridiculous that we could have done so.  Besides, who wages a war against two people?  That’s _far_ from sporting.  And we weren’t doing anything wrong.” She looked at her master as he peered down the line of waiting carriages, their idle horses enjoying their feed bags or having a bit of a nap, chilly drivers huddled down in their coats and smoking pipes to pass the time.  “Were we?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s posture changed for a moment as they walked, his back straight and rigid, his footsteps snapping against the pebbled drive, and he was silent for so long Belle thought that he’d decided to ignore the question.  She was about to press the issue when her turned to her, saying, “Belle, I’m not… _well liked_.  People often think me heartless.  They cannot bring themselves to understand that most of the evil they _think_ they see in me is but a part of my magic, a consequence of my power.  They only see the way my power twists and gnarls the world,” he sighed, “and who permits it to do so.”  He stopped, taking in a few deep breaths, and spoke in a hushed tone: “None have truly seen me the way you have.”

He felt particularly unprepared to be so open with her in this way, feeling that already he had misspoken, had ruined all.  Carefully choosing his words, he tried to amend his prior statements, hoping she would listen.

“I _can_ be cruel, yes.  I have been truly cruel at times; I am the last person to forget that.  But I would never use what they have—what we witnessed back there—to hurt anyone.”  His tone brightened a little as he saw her features take on her familiar look of understanding, and, encouraged, he continued.  “The sky you saw tonight? I’ll let you in on a little secret.  They seem to think it a sign of future prosperity, a sort of nod from the heavens, you see?  They think that their actions—insignificant in the grand scheme of things, of course, but we’re all the center of our own worlds—bring the lights here, to this particular kingdom, and that their coming proves that all will be well.  But these people and their brief lives have no influence over the heavens, no more than an ant dictates the fate of kings.   You simply can’t see the Spectacle of Light from anywhere else, and they interpreted that through the lens of their own self-importance.”

He kicked a pebble deftly from one foot to the other.  “It’s magic granted to us by the world, you see, and they have warped it into being something about _their_ goodness, their pride and vanity.  The price of this magic, as far as I can understand, is to appreciate it for what it is and be grateful, to let it into one’s life without wanting to use it for one’s own gain.  But,” his voice sounded bitter, then, “as you can see, dearie, they didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Swallowing uncomfortably, for his throat seemed suddenly dry, he added, “What better way did I have of showing that appreciation than to reflect the light in my _companion_?” He smiled, almost shyly, knowing that she was more able to deduce the truth behind his clumsy advances than was entirely easy to bear, and almost resented himself for being so honest with her.  _What on earth could a woman of her beauty and cleverness ever see in a beast like me?_

He gave her a moment, feeling that he had said enough.  Her pace had slowed as she thought on his words and began to reason through them.  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but they thought that you might somehow use it for what, _evil_?”  Rumpelstiltskin only nodded, grateful that her response had not been an accusation or an assumption.  “Well, that’s just ridiculous!”

“I’ve seen worse than ridiculous things in my day, dearie, this is just superstition.”  He sighed, simmering in the agitation wrought by his ruined plans.  “I am finding myself once again in your debt,” he said with an uncomfortable smile.  “I suppose the library could use an additional wing, as an apology...?”

Belle laughed, abruptly.

“ _What_?”  (Surely, she wasn’t mocking him?)  “I promised you an evening not to be forgotten–”

“And you have delivered,” she said, smiling.

“But not in the ways I had hoped.”

This seemed to amuse her even further.  “I’ve helped you to show respect and appreciation to a magic that was not your own.  Granted, with help from _your_ magic,” she fiddled with her skirts a bit, “but I think I bore it well.  After all, I hadn’t been prepared to be at center stage, so all things considered I believe I kept my head as well as could be expected.”

He couldn’t help but smile back, her cheer contagious.  “So you did.”

Finally, they reached their carriage.  The horses whinnied and thrashed again when Rumpelstiltskin held the door open for Belle.  Frowning slightly, Belle turned from the carriage door and approached the flustered horses, instead.

“Belle, what are you doing?” Rumpelstiltskin asked, a hint of warning in his voice.  He had seen what happened to those foolish enough to with startled mounts; it wasn’t pretty.

“My father’s house had grand stables, you know,” Belle said over her shoulder.  The horses continued to whinny and buck, the carriage driver keeping them reined as best he could.  “I know a thing or two about caring for horses.  The trick is, to be confident and let them know you mean them the utmost care and respect.”

In each hand she held a sculpted sugar-drop, taken from the ball’s vast array of delicacies—she had tucked them away in the folds of her skirt when Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t looking, intent on giving the horses a treat.  Slowly, the horses seemed to calm, and once they could smell what she had in her hands, they each took their offerings and quieted down almost immediately.  She gave each one a few long strokes, and they snorted at her but remained still.

“You’ll behave yourselves, now, won’t you, little fellows?” she cooed, and Rumpelstiltskin giggled at how she could call such enormous animals _little_.

With that, Belle returned to her master’s side and let him help her into the carriage, feeling rather good about the evening on the whole.  Rumpelstiltskin took his seat beside her and closed the door, rapping the hood of the carriage with his knuckles, signaling their readiness to leave.

The whole ride back, Belle knew he was searching her face in the dark, and tried not to be self-conscious, looking out of the window at the blurred shadows that flicked past on the road beyond. 

Finally, he spoke.  “To be honest, I did make that dress with someone specific in mind.” He leaned forward conspiratorially.  “Perhaps, one day, I will tell you the tale?”

“I would like that,” she said.  “Though I daresay this dress may be seeing an early retirement; we oughtn’t go to balls; I’ve suddenly remembered why I don’t like them.”

“Too true.”  Rumpelstiltskin chuckled.  “Best to stay in our library, I think.”

Belle felt a little flame of happiness brighten within her at the thought.  _Our library_ , she repeated to herself, and the flame grew brighter still.


	7. Belle and Rumpelstiltskin Courting - Touch and Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle and Rumpelstiltskin bond further in wine and song following the Spectacle of Light and, when an old woman leaves a small token, giving Belle bad dreams, one wonders how Rumpelstiltskin will retaliate.

The coachman tipped his hat and mumbled, “Thank you, sir,” as Rumpelstiltskin had paid him for his services at the gates, for the horses refused to take them any further.  Rumpelstiltskin and Belle watched as the coachman steered the horses away at a brisk gallop; clearly he wished to put the Dark Castle behind him as soon as possible.  Rather than feel sorry for what a life her master must lead, full of false judgments and ostracism at every turn, Belle took Rumpelstiltskin’s arm for the journey from the gates up the long drive, through the topiary garden with its thorny hedges and up the broad stone stair to the entrance hall.  She smiled at him, her relief obvious, to show how pleased she was that they were home and away from scornful eyes once more.

Rumpelstiltskin was still quite ashamed of how foul the evening had become, but managed an amused twitch of his lips for Belle’s sake before saying, with the tone of a reluctant confession, “You are very brave, my dear.”

He watched his feet as they walked by moonlight, careful of where they stepped, steering Belle away from the occasional sharp stone or pothole in the path, conscious of her thin, flat shoes.  It was warmer, here, in their own kingdom, but the night air was still nippy and slightly damp.  He wondered if he ought to conjure a cloak for her, but didn’t want to seem too attentive. “To think those fools at court are likely weeping over your fate, or cursing you for your allegiances with someone so hideous, but the truth is they haven’t the slightest notion of your true mettle!”

She took on a pitying look and he immediately regretted his remark.  “You aren’t hideous.  I do wish you wouldn’t speak of yourself in such a way.”

“Oh, but I must, milady.  I cannot deny that which is so apparent.”

“You really can’t see yourself at all, can you?”  She inched in closer to him as if sharing a secret but really she was more after the warmth of him, his formal garb being far more suited to the evening chill than hers.  “Did your hidden mirrors tell you such falsehoods?  Do they spread rumors about my master when I’m not in his company?”

He tensed for a moment—could she have realized?—but forced himself to relax, deciding to change the subject.  “You appear to be freezing, madam, may I be of assistance?”

Belle laughed.  “I fear this dress, despite its beauty, might have done well with warm sleeves.”

Rumpelstiltskin put his arm around her shoulders, enveloping her as much as he could while maintaining their pace.

Belle noticed, with a strange feeling that made her hyper-aware of the sound of their footsteps, that the breeze had stopped blowing.  “Is that you blocking the wind?”

“Perhaps,” he said, but the grin on his face was a resounding yes.

“You don’t need to– ” Belle shivered again and leaned into his arms.  “Th-thank you,” she said sheepishly into his collar.  She could hide there and felt happy enough, just breathing in his warm, woodsmoke-and-herbs scent, and dreaming of summer while the cold winds howled beyond the gates.  She heard Rumpelstiltskin sigh contentedly as she settled in closer.

They made their way into the foyer through the iron-bound doors, which closed with a wave of Rumpelstiltskin’s hand as soon as they had crossed the threshold.  They made their way into the drawing room, where he must have conjured a fire, for cheerful flames were dancing in the hearth.  Belle looked around the room as she warmed her hands—at the curtains (no longer tightly closed against the sun), the curio cabinets full of strange objects—and she felt much more at home than she had before having been away.  The claw-footed chairs, the rugs worn thin here and there from her master’s pacing, the baskets of spun gold lined up against one wall as if awaiting orders: these things felt so much more inviting now.  Belle never thought she would have missed them.  I much prefer our smaller, more selective parties to those terribly grand things at court, she thought.  Two people is plenty: one to listen while the other talks.

She smiled as she toed out of her dancing shoes, noticing Rumpelstiltskin had remained in the doorway, and, not realizing she was looking, banished his party clothes with magic, replacing them with far more comfortable-looking home attire that she saw him in most days.  Looking up at her, Rumpelstiltskin realized that he’d never done something like that in her presence.  It wasn’t as if she’s seen him unclothed, but the transition between two outfits led one’s mind to what came between them.  Rumpelstiltskin looked away as if nothing had happened, hoping Belle wouldn’t comment.  He’d forgotten himself, which was something he rarely did in the presence of others, especially in regard to his powers.

Exasperated with himself and cursing his lack of etiquette (as if he hadn’t spoiled the evening enough!), Rumpelstiltskin continued to look anywhere but Belle, busying himself with a trinket that was out of place.  “I… er, wanted to be out of those blasted things as quick as possible.  Quite a wretched time was had by all, and I didn’t want to linger on it—,”

“It’s quite all right, I don’t mind,” said Belle, feeling a bit out of place in her dress when in such day-to-day surroundings, but still enjoying very much the opportunity to wear such a fine garment.

Rumpelstiltskin stopped fidgeting and looked at her sideways, a somewhat sly look on his face.  “Well I, for one, am famished.  What sort of person gets by for a whole evening on tarts the size of their thumbs, and little pearl mushrooms on a stick?  Party food.”  He rolled his eyes.  “If you aren’t too tired from our journey, I’d be happy to whip up a few delicacies of my own, if you’d like—to accompany a proper-sized meal, of course?”

“Yes please!  I’m starving.”

***

After Belle went about releasing herself of her finery down in her room, she joined her master in the kitchen in her housedress and blue apron.  He’d already heated the stove and built up the fire, and had arranged a dazzling array of unusual items alongside the chopping block, most of which were unfamiliar to her.  There were odd black sprouts, a purple root of some kind, flowers something akin to thistles but with white curls instead of prickly spines, a knobbly seed-pod, a little silver pot of bright yellow powder that Belle assumed was a spice of some kind, and still more unusual bits and bobs heaped into bowls, onto plates, and—in the case of something that looked like a pickled water snake—suspended in glass jars.

“Conjuring foreign delicacies?”  Belle remembered Rumpelstiltskin’s explanation of the other guests’ enthusiasm for the array of tiny morsels they had been offered.  “Isn’t that cheating?”

“Not the delicacies themselves, simply the ingredients.  My meager pantries don’t always have what one needs for such luxurious endeavors, and it would be ridiculous to wait for them to show up in some old crone’s market stall.  Now, pay attention,” he waggled his eyebrows at her, making her giggle, “as I impart my knowledge to you as discussed, upon my honor as a wizard!” He finished with a flourishing, twirly gesture (aided by a wooden spoon), delighting in his own impish nature, which she’d come to accept.

“First, we shall make one of my favorites,” said Rumpelstiltskin, “mostly because it’s one of my favorites, but also due to it being generally well-liked by even the fussiest palates.”  He tapped the snake’s jar with his spoon.  “Not so for some of these beauties, I’d wager.”

Belle laughed.  “All right.  I don’t even know what most of this is.”

“Well, tell me what you do recognize, and we can proceed from there.”  Rumpelstiltskin busied himself with fetching bread and butter from the cooling pantry while she looked over the gathered ingredients, saying,  “I can hear you from here, go right ahead.”

Belle did as she was told, describing spade grass (easily identifiable due to its broad, veiny blades), dryad’s honey (blood-red, collected from ancient trees and said to have aphrodisiac properties—Belle read about it in a fanciful comedy of errors), fisherman’s wort (a single branch of which made a strange mesh, naturally weaving itself like a fishing net), and Seeds of Glory (they glowed a little when they were warm).  “That’s all I know about,” said Belle.  “Wait—I may have eaten that pear-looking thing once at a wedding, but I don’t know what it is.”

Rumpelstiltskin had returned with buttered bread to snack on while they worked, and shook his head.  “That’s a liar’s plum, dearie, it doesn’t really look like that.”

“Oh.”

Rumpelstiltskin rubbed his hands together excitedly.  “Right.  I’m going to show you what we need, and then take you through the steps.”

Belle was introduced to topple flower (its blossoms dropped off if you startled them with a loud noise), rushikren (a spice made of powdered river weeds, which tasted nothing at all like weeds and rather a lot like sweetened salt), dozing fungi (poorly named, for it made you feel not sleepy, but slightly drunk), pepper eggs (laid, it was said, by sprites when they were in a particularly mischievous mood), and dates from Agrabah (said to be sweeter and more decadent than the finest fruits of the West).

“Now, you take dates—that’s enough—and you mash them with a fork, and get the pits out.”

Belle mashed, removed pits, and then showed Rumpelstiltskin her work for approval.

“That’s just the right consistency, excellent.  Now you take a pepper egg and tap  the small end off with the side of a spoon, just like you’re tapping a boiled egg.”

Even their smallest sugar spoon was enormous compared to the tiny pepper egg in Belle’s hand, and Belle viewed such an undertaking with concern.  “What if I accidentally smash it?”

“It’ll release a noxious gas.  Here,” Rumpelstiltskin shaved the very end off the pepper egg with magic, “that should help.  Don’t put the one we used back into the pouch, and under no circumstances let it anywhere near the fire.”

Belle nodded.  “Don’t put it back, don’t set it on fire.  Right.”

“Now you slice the fungi into tiny cubes—if I may?” Rumpelstiltskin placed his hand over hers, guiding the strokes of the knife, showing her precisely how much force was required to slice through the spongy bulbs.  “It doesn’t matter if they’re the same size, but the shape helps them cook down faster….”

Once he'd walked her through the appropriate steps, he stopped hovering and allowed her to work on her own—though he made it clear that he'd answer any relevant questions.  Every now and then he contributed teasing encouragement, but he mostly stood back and let Belle prepare the dish as he'd instructed, and it wasn't long before they had little savory pies to go with their  bread and butter.

While they were laughing over the story of how he had weaseled one of the recipes out of a witch in the middle of a siege, Rumpelstiltskin realized he'd brought nothing to drink with their meal.  His mouth full of a bite of pie, Rumpelstiltskin returned to the pantry and grabbed a jug of mead from the back of the lowest shelf.  Back in the kitchen proper, he placed the jug emphatically on the counter between them and conjured two glasses from the cabinet with a flourish.  He was filling them up before Belle had a chance to catch her breath from all the laughter. 

Belle lifted her glass to indicate that they ought to toast toast, but couldn't drag herself away from the delicious little pies on her plate.  She gestured with her glass, and said 'Mmph,' twice before finally being able to finish her mouthful.  “To ostentatious bodies and the learning of many a skill!” she declared.  Belle clinked her glass with his, and she then took a large swig of mead, smiling from ear to ear. 

“I was going to save this jug, you know, for a special occasion.” Rumpelstiltskin wiggled his eyebrows at her, running a finger down the side of the glass he held, chasing a stray drip.

Prodding the small slices of what he assured her was fruit (though they appeared to be more meat-colored), Belle took another swill.  “Then I shall not waste a single drop!”  She smirked at him over her shoulder as she rose to attend to the fire; the dates sizzling in the pan had become musically loud, which was her cue to take them off the fire and make the caramel sauce that would top the pies—the ones they hadn't already eaten, at any rate.

“Be careful with this stuff, my dear,” Rumpelstiltskin said with a hiccup.  “It’s not to be trifled with.”

“If it’s good enough for the Dark One,” she said, and drained her glass.  “Another, if you please!”  She was already beginning to feel it taking effect, and made sure to _sip_ her second glass rather than gulp it, even as her master partook liberally of the mead, practically drinking directly from the jug at one point.  Belle wondered how quickly he’d become loose and flustered, already feeling a little dizzy, herself.

Finally, full of fantastic food, they both sat at her small table in the corner, her on a stool and he perched on the edge of the sink next to her, at eye level.  They’d finished laughing at another funny story—this time about her father and his brief affair with a peacock of a woman—and they had to catch their breath yet again. 

Rumpelstiltskin stopped and just watched her, becoming dreamy-eyed.  He could feel it happen, and see her expression change in response, but he didn’t hide it this time: he met her gaze, emboldened by the drink.

“Belle,” he started, and tried to say more, but just shook his head.  He gracefully slid from his perch and leaned forward in what Belle thought was going to be a kiss, but Rumpelstiltskin slumped into the dip of her shoulder, instead, a sigh tickling the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.  Belle chuckled, feeling Rumpelstiltskin's knees sag under his weight, and got off her stool to help him stay on his feet.

“Dear me, I appear to have come a little undone, milady,” he slurred into her ear.  The sweet mead seemed to soften his usually sharp-edged voice, and Belle felt him smile as she took his weight into her arms and he leaned on her as little as he could, a hand on her forearm and the other against the wall to steady himself.

“You're smashed,” Belle noted astutely, though the letter S gave her a bit of trouble.  “Come on, you, time for bed.”

Slowly, they managed to get him up the stairs and into the corridor that led to his chambers.  Belle was a little unnerved, because half the time when Rumpelstiltskin tried to open a door, he opened a portal into the surface of the door, instead, startling them both with scenes of sandy valleys, slimy caverns, and, once, a lady bathing.  (Rumpelstiltskin closed that one more quickly than the others.)

“I did not mean to do that,” he said, enunciating very crisply to compensate for his slurring.

“Of course not.”

“That was a woman in the bath.”

Belle nodded.  “Quite correct.”

“We don't need a woman in the bath, we need bed.”

“Yes.”

“Or two beds,” he corrected himself.  “As there are two of us.”

“Right.”

Belle opened the door to his bedchamber to prevent any further incident, and, leaving him momentarily to support his own weight on the door frame, pulled back his coverlet for him and stoked the fire a bit.

“You're too kind,” he said.

“Just doing my job.  Go easy on the mead next time, hmm?”

Rumpelstiltskin sniffed mock-haughtily.  “I don't go easy on _anyone_ , and mead is no exception.”

Belle attempted to get him into bed with some difficulty, as he didn’t want to pass out just yet and was fidgeting to keep himself alert.

“Belle, I… I want to thank you for being… so very kind to me.  That _woman_ ,” he paused, trying to think of the right words as Belle pulled off his boots.  “Not the woman in the bath.  Never seen her before in my life.”  He chuckled a little, self-consciously, shaking his head.  “There was a woman I once knew.  She was nothing like you, she was never kind to me.”  He finally allowed her to tuck him in, still mostly dressed, and he fell back onto his pillows.  “She didn’t deserve that dress.”

Belle heard this last just as she was going to blow out the candles, but she stopped, turning to listen more closely.  Having caught her attention Rumpelstiltskin continued, trying to lean forward but his head was too heavy to lift. “Her name was…” he seemed to reconsider, and started over.  “I think she may have loved me, once… but she loved power more.  She left me, you see.  Just like everyone does.  Just like you might someday.” 

His face both slackened and seemed to take on a dozen different emotions before nearly settling on anger.  Belle, concerned he would hurt himself, returned to his side.  Her hand went to his face and she was soothing him, making shushing noises, not sure it would help but she figured it wouldn't hurt.  He blinked, momentarily confused, and the thought struck him hard that even when he was angry, drunk and maudlin, Belle didn't flinch when they touched.

“You don’t have to worry about that, trust me.  I promised to stay, and I'll stay.  We made a deal.”  She held herself straighter than before, and stood, blowing out the candles and leaving her master to rest.  She could hear faint snoring as she tiptoed out.  A little unsteadily, Belle closed the door behind her and leaned her forehead against the cool, glossy wood before whispering, “I’m happy here, where would I go?”

***

_Two Weeks Later_

Belle now brought the large tray into the dining room with ease, as she had added a broad leather strap so that she could bear some of the weight on her shoulders rather than just her hands and forearms.

For their lunch, she had prepared a lavish dish with many of the interesting ingredients with which her master now stocked the pantry.  (After their little culinary adventure the previous fortnight, Belle had continued to cook things she'd never tried before, sometimes with Rumpelstiltskin giving her verbal step-by-step directions, and other times using cookbooks she found in the library.)

"I can smell the rare jewel-figs I brought back from that trip to the South, what a delight!  Were you able to fry them per my instructions?"

"Taste them and see for yourself,” Belle replied slyly.  They'd been bantering all day, trading sarcastic barbs and jokes at each other's expense, always with a flirtatious slant.  “We never had such fine things in my father's court—we're just, what did you call us? _Backwoods country people with more ego than land_ , after all.  So I wouldn't know if they taste the way they ought.  You should have a bite, and describe to me what it's like.”

“As you wish, you're the cook.”

“With no training but a few scant lessons,” Belle protested with amusement.  “I'm surprised I've not poisoned you by accident yet.”

Rumpelstiltskin stood behind his chair, awaiting her to be seated first, but not before greeting her with his jovial smile, which had warmed considerably since Belle had first entered his service.  “Ha!  The only poison you feed me is when I have to watch you leave the room.”

Belle laughed under her breath.  “You've not expired yet, master.  It must be a very weak poison, indeed.”

“Or else I've grown accustomed to it!  Perhaps if you stayed by my side for longer, your eventual leaving would pain me more, and I would perish were you to be out of my sight.”

Belle set the tray down between their places at the table, taking the strap from her neck.  She turned to Rumpelstiltskin and spread her arms, indulging in a close embrace that was so easy, so comfortable and _right,_ that it lifted a sigh from both of them in unison.

They never discussed it.  They joked around the edges of what was happening, never quite able to put into words.  Yet, despite this reticence, they managed a soft touch every day, as if they both simply could not carry on without these small comforts.  Casual gestures between them had come much easier since the evening of the ball.  It consoled them both to be able to turn to one another for such things.  Hands brushed, fingertips alighting on chin or cheek, a hand on an arm, a head on a shoulder, a press of shoulders or a small hug, all brought great happiness to the both of them, and while they might question it in their own minds, they did not speak of it.

After a small amount of lingering, Belle absently tangling a finger in the pocket of his brocade vest, Rumpelstiltskin was usually the first to break away, not unkindly but reluctantly, mumbling something about work or food or other more pressing things.  Belle always felt a pang of disappointment, though she relived them again and again as she fell asleep at night, enjoying them anew.  She would imagine him nestled close like at the ball, a hand on the small of her back to steady her, and a smile for her at every nuanced thing she did. 

It seemed to her that since the Spectacle of Light, her master had become more reclusive than before, less willing to venture out for his usual dealings, and returning from obligatory trips far sooner than he ever had previously.   These days he was always hanging about the castle somewhere, spinning or reading or just looking out of the windows—but despite whatever task with which he busied himself, Belle often felt a strange sense that he always knew where she was and what she was doing... and it didn't frighten her like it did before.  In fact, she rather enjoyed it; she felt safer than she ever had in her father's castle with guards and a high gate.  While she was dusting his treasures she laughed and thought _I'm part of his collection now... and this is how he dusts me!_  She rather hoped he was watching her just then and thought her a madwoman, or had a chuckle himself—she couldn’t decide.

Their midday meal went along in pleasant silence, although her master seemed distracted today and did not appear to enjoy the food as much as she'd hoped.  All of his usual mirth seemed muted and distant.  He even mumbled something to himself about, "Can't have that, can't have that a _'tall_ ," in an accent she did not recognize.  It occurred to her that he was quite a wizard capable of seeing things that no one else could, so she tried not to worry herself with what was beyond her sight.

She'd been fidgeting with her apron; trying to catch his attention with subtle hints didn’t seem to be working.  "Rumpelstiltskin," she barely whispered.

His eyes shot up to meet hers, "Yes, what is it?"

She stiffened a little, intimidated by the threat of his mercurial nature turning sour, and thought about leaving the subject unsaid.  She pressed on, however, her curiosity getting the better of her.  "I just don’t always… Rumpelstiltskin, I was hoping we could talk about _you_ today.  Where you come from?  How old are you?  Silly, trivial things to you, I’m sure, but things _I’m_ interested in knowing.  It's only fair, as you know all about _my_ life before I came here.  I know I used to get antsy when you'd speak of your magical dealings, but this is different. I’d like to get to know you better, especially since I've sworn I'll stay here forever.”  She began playing with the salt shaker, uncomfortably aware of his narrowed eyes on her.  “Look, about that night—” It was obvious from his expression that Rumpelstiltskin knew what night she meant, “it's fine, really, I don’t mind what happened.  I only wish I understood you more!  When something comes out that I didn't know about you, it's like I have to re-construct you in my head—but if I don't know where the foundation lies, it's a pretty shoddy version of you.  Any little thing knocks it down and I'm left to figure out what pieces go where, _again_.”

Belle realized that not only was she was doing all the talking, but Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t making any sound at all, which was very unlike him.  When Belle looked up he was staring out the window, his attention wholly arrested.  “Right, yes,” he said, his tone distant and flat, “of course you're right.”  Belle couldn’t figure out if he was talking to her or not.

Having grown used to being treated kindly and even with favor by her master, Belle felt slighted by such dismissal.  Unable to contain herself, she asked, “What are you looking at?”

Belle regretted her question as soon as his eyes were back on her.  He looked conflicted, and when he spoke his voice was bitter.  “Something  with which you need not concern yourself .”

He laughed brashly, a cloying-sweet smile twisting his features, and Belle could have sworn he was still scrutinizing the window out of the corner of his eye.  Quite abruptly Rumpelstiltskin wiped his mouth and stood.  "I've urgent business.  I trust you to see to your own supper; I'll be back before breakfast in the morning."  He didn't even use the door: a puff of purple smoke, and he was gone.

Belle sulked a little in the silence, and settled into an aggravated stew over his abrupt departure.  She only wished he had told her something about where he had to go and why; what did he do out there, whom did he see?  Didn’t she have a right to know?

But at that thought, it struck her that she _didn't—_ she had no right to pry into her master's business, and he had no obligation to inform her of any of it.  She was a servant.  She obeyed his commands, catered to his whims.  Thanks to her impulsive decision to join him ( _to spare countless others_ , she tried to remind herself), it was unlikely that she could ever be more than a servant for the rest of her life.  Belle realized her fists were clenched in her lap, and that her stomach had turned sour.  No use trying to eat when she felt sick with anger—she cleared the table, went down to the kitchen and set about scrubbing the flagstone floor within an inch of its life.  Once she had exhausted the kitchen of things to thrash into submission with her rags and brushes, Belle went up to the entrance hall to polish the brass door fittings.  The sharp smell of the metal polish, combined with the hard buffing action of the task, would be a good way to get her frustrations out.

She had completed one set of hinges and handles when the heavy door rattled with a thunderous knock, almost scaring her off her step-stool.

A visitor? The Dark Castle had never had a visitor while Rumpelstiltskin was out, and rarely did anyone come round for reasons other than to beg him for aid.  Was there a protocol for this?  He’d never mentioned what to do if someone showed up and he wasn't present.  She’d assumed there were protection spells and things to deflect wayward travelers from knocking on the door, but apparently not.  Unwilling to shirk her duties  as keeper of the house, despite her current irritation, Belle decided that it was best to investigate.  Better to apologize if it was the wrong course of action than be chastised for neglecting to act.

She took off her apron and did her best to smooth down her hair and make herself presentable.  “Just a moment, please,” she called out, running her hand through her somewhat sweaty hair and trying to muster up a smile.  Belle then opened the door slowly, cracked it just enough to see an old beggar woman in a black cloak, bearing a basket of roses, a ragged pack slung over her shoulders.  “My master is not available just now, madam, but I’ll gladly pass on any message you may have for him.”

The little old woman spoke clearly and precisely despite her advanced age.  “My sweet young keeper of this house,” (Belle smiled at that and felt a thrill of acknowledgment for all her hard work), “I am but an old woman traveling the main thoroughfare, trying to gather thread and comfort for a son off to the ogres wars.  Their uniforms are sorely in need of mending, and alas, a mother cannot come to her son's aid on the battle field!  I have no coin of the realm, but I would gladly barter the few pretty baubles I have with me, or one of these fine roses.”

Belle’s face fell with sympathy for the poor woman.  “How dire is the fighting?  How many boys were sent?”

The woman smiled dolefully.  “All lads who have reached their fifteenth year have been summoned to arms, and a few sturdy maids who have reached their eighteenth and are yet unwed.  It will be the babes next!  My son is no babe, but he is all I have.  For many generations our trade has been smithing and fine metalwork, miss, and I’ve some lovely ornaments from the forge that might strike your fancy, if you’ve some yarn or string to spare to keep my poor son's buttons on.”

“Of course—and you need not provide me with any payment, keep your trinkets for others you meet down the road.  I have sturdy silk thread for mending, and some thicker twine and embroidery floss,” Belle noted, thinking of her sewing box upstairs.  “I cannot let you in, madam—master's orders, I hope you understand—but please wait here and I shall return as quickly as I can.”

Belle closed and locked the door, before hurrying up to the laundry closet to sort through her sewing materials.  Her eyes began to tear up as she thought of the plight of the poor old woman’s son, and  of all the young men and women from her own village who gave up their lives in battle; how Gaston had begged to fight but her father had forbidden him, not wanting Belle to be made a widow before her time.

She chose a few skeins of thick yarn, a ball of twine, several bunches of bright floss, and three spools of silken thread that would more than suit the shade of canvas that soldiers wore (and would do well to stitch up wounds, no doubt).  She wrapped them all in a handkerchief and went back downstairs by way of the dining room, where she snatched several pieces of fruit from the bowl upon the table and added them to the bundle so that the old woman would be sure to have something to eat.

Belle returned, having only just wiped her eyes before opening the door again.  “Here, this is what I can spare; I hope it will help!  All my prayers are with you, your son and your village.  May the gods be on your side.”

Once the old woman untied the handkerchief and saw how much she had been given, she began to fawn over Belle, pleading that she wait just one moment, Belle began to shut the door.  “Please, if you could spare but an instant more, with that generous spirit!  I have something for you.”  The old woman set to rummaging in her pack, and Belle started to feel a little antsy, but soon her patience was rewarded with an exclamation and a velvet box, a little worn at the edges and corners.  “Dear lady, please open this and take the contents as thanks for your kind spirit.” 

Belle opened the box tentatively, not knowing what she would find, and was surprised to see a small necklace resting on a gathered scrap of silk.   It was very simple, almost plain: a small, matte nautilus shell, a bit on the yellow side of beige, with a black leather cord.  Belle was struck by the sentiment rather than the object itself, how this poor woman had felt so moved by Belle's offering that she felt compelled to repay Belle with something that was clearly important to her, however ordinary it looked.

Should she really agree to allow the woman to part with such a thing?  Belle felt torn between kindness and fancy: If she were to polish the shell, it might shine and look well on her; she could braid together some of Rumpelstiltskin's golden thread from which to hang it, and it would look very pretty, and if she happened to have something to catch her master's eye when he returned, might he perhaps look upon her the way he did the night of the ball, with something more than favor in his eyes?

 “It's lovely, thank you.”  She put it in the pocket of her apron.

With the door finally closed, Belle wished there was a mirror she could use.  _Never, under any circumstances are you to uncover these mirrors_ , was the rule she could not allow herself to break, no matter how much she wished to.  Ah well, until she could look down at her reflection in the basin in her cell, she could look down at the necklace around her throat and know there was someone in the world who appreciated the good she was trying to do.

She continued with her chores, feeling better about her day, although still, in the back of her mind, there was the matter of Rumpelstiltskin and his cagey secrecy.  The more she thought about it the more aggravated she became, until at last she resolved to lay the matter aside and hope for the best; after all, she'd probably get the truth out of him eventually.

She dined early on simple fare, and as the twilight gathered close she realized how tiring her day had been, and began to wonder about her master: where he was, what he was doing, if he was in trouble, what evil his magic might be inflicting upon others. This last question bothered her most, because she didn’t want to start thinking like those terrible mountain people, making assumptions about how evil a man her master was—she knew better, and, knowing what she knew, falling prey to suspicion almost made her worse than them.

So many questions without answers buzzed in her brain until finally she curled up on her straw mattress in the candlelight, delving into a book to try to ignore her curiosity.  When she had finished three chapters and her eyes were scratchy with tiredness, she turned over onto her back and thought about the day.  The memory of the hug they’d shared earlier left a sour taste in her mouth, as if it had been poisoned by his utter disregard for her.  How could he be so different from moment to moment?  Was that the magic, some alternate creature living in him, driving him to cruelty?  Or was this how he had always behaved?  Why didn’t he ever wish to talk about himself?  Belle talked about her old life and her interests all the time, and true, Rumpelstiltskin shared the occasional ridiculous story to amuse her, but they were always about other people—hearsay and fables or “I once knew a fellow who...” nothing personal.  Who _was_ her master, really?

Belle drifted into a fitful slumber, and in her dreams she was lost on the battlefields, surrounded by ogres, watching young lads suffer and die in her arms.  She kept calling for people who might save her—her father, Gaston, even her childhood tutors—but no one came, and she knew they never _would_ come, that there was nothing they could possibly do.  She was in another place, now, beyond their influence.  She was as good as dead to them.

One soldier, who looked so much like the old traveling woman that Belle cried out when she saw his face, was hit by several spears and fell onto her, his dead weight driving her into the churned-up mud, blank eyes staring hopelessly into hers, black blood pouring from his mouth.  Belle screamed, frantically struggling to push him off, and she imagined the face of the old woman, crying, begging Belle to tell her why she hadn't been able to save him, why Belle would bring her precious son home like this, bloodless and riddled with gaping wounds.

She called for help again, but knew it was useless.  She felt the boy soldier's corpse crushing her, forcing her to sink down into the cold, wet slop that covered the battlefield, and she screwed her eyes shut and wailed.

When she opened them, she was on her feet, filthy but alive, at the end of a wheel-rutted village road.  Behind her were black woods, impenetrable and terrifying, and before her the village was being ransacked by an ogre horde, young mothers fleeing with bloodied children in their arms, carts overturned, horses tearing from their stalls, every cottage thatch ablaze.  Several men ran round a corner, armed with pitchforks, pruning hooks, sharp-edged spades, even fireplace pokers, brandishing their makeshift weapons to defend their homes and families.

Then Belle caught sight of the ogres nearest her, and while they seemed gruesomely misshapen, monstrous to behold, Belle saw that they were smaller than their fellows from the battlefield she had seen before, fairer, barely grown into their boots.  Several, when they grimaced at the approaching villagers, seemed to still have their baby teeth.  They were no more than children, just like those rounded up to join the human armies, just like the old woman's son.

Belle found herself running at full tilt, kicking up road gravel behind her, desperate to put herself between the two opposing sides.  Didn't any of them understand, or care, that they were killing another being's sons and daughters?  Couldn't they see they were all really the same?

The leader of the pack of villagers stared her down, brandishing his weapons, one in each hand.  “Stand down, little girl, you don't know what you're doing.  They're monsters, they're killing us all!”

“ _You're_ monsters, if you kill them!” Belle shot back, arms flung wide as she tried to shield those ogres closest behind her.  “They're as innocent as any of you—they didn't decide to do this, people in power made them!”

One of the ogres grabbed her round the middle, trying to pull her backwards.

“You fool!  You betray your own kind!  Do you think you have won these beasts' favor for this little stunt?  They'll tear you to pieces.  I say again, for the last time,” the man snarled, pressing his pitchfork against Belle's chest and leaning forwards, so she felt the sharp points digging into her flesh, “ _stand down_.”

But Belle couldn't; though every fibre of her being screamed for her to run, to escape pain, she couldn't.  Would she die here?  Would the ogres stand by her, or turn on her just like the people had?

She needed help.  She needed someone who could make it all disappear, who would understand what she was doing and come to her aid.

“Rumpelstiltskin!  _Rumpelstiltskin_!”

He was there, she could see him emerge as if out of the smoking wreckage of the village, looking faintly concerned, but then he tilted his head, gave her that crooked smile and disappeared again with a snide little wave.

The man who had threatened her leaned hard on the handle of his pitchfork, driving its tines into her shoulder, dragging a scream from her throat.

“Rumpelstiltskin, don’t you _dare_ leave me here!”  But he had melted into the smoke, as the ogre holding her began to crush her bones and she screamed all the harder.

“Wake up, Belle,” the ogre growled thickly in her ear.

“Wake up,” the man spat as he drove the points of his pitchfork clean through her shoulder and out the other side.

“Belle!  Wake up, Belle!  Wake _up_!”

Suddenly Belle jolted awake, wide-eyed and shivering, a strangled noise escaping her.  For a moment the dream was still real and she could still feel the ogre's brawny arms compressing her chest, and the half-numb stabbing pain in her shoulder, until she realized she had fallen asleep with her heavy book on her chest, with her arm twisted under her so it twinged when she tried to move it.

“Belle, come on, Belle, I’m here, what’s the matter?”

She glanced around warily and saw that she was in her room, safe in her dungeon.  Rumpelstiltskin was patting her hand, soothing her, and she clung to him, her book falling to the floor.  She was in her bed, not on a battlefield, not watch boys die at the hands of the ogres, not being called a traitor and run through with anything.  Not screaming for her Father or Gaston.  She was screaming for her master and, in her bleary state, still not quite awake, all she could manage to say was, “Why did you leave me?”

Rumpelstiltskin was obviously concerned for her, but also very confused.  “I don’t understand—we've discussed this, you _know_ the nature of my business, sometimes I must leave without notice.”  He was rocking her slowly while she caught her breath.  At least she had stopped crying, that was a relief.  He never quite knew what to do for a crying girl, and it seemed to be more of a problem these days.

“No, I mean…” She realized that it was unreasonable to assume that Rumpelstiltskin could have known what she was dreaming about.  “I’m sorry, it was a nightmare.  I was dreaming that you… that you left me to die.”

“That does sound like my usual fare, doesn't it?” This earned him a thump on the arm from Belle's tentative and ultimately futile fist.  “Although I would never do that to _you_ , dearie.  _Never_ to you, you’re far to important—” He stopped himself before he could speak further, unable to bring himself to say what he wanted to say, even when Belle needed it most.  Old resentment still clung to the word _love,_ and he couldn’t bring himself to accept and move past it.  Not knowing what else to do, he continued rocking her as she held tight, still somewhere between panic and exhaustion. 

After she had mostly pulled herself together, Belle pushed back from him a little so she could get her bearings.  She winced a little when she noticed that her gown had ruched up to her thighs in her thrashing terror, but Rumpelstiltskin seemed more intent on searching her face and smoothing her hair from her brow, and Belle instantly felt far less self-conscious.  If he wasn't going to make a fuss about her bare legs, then neither was she.

Her master was perched at an awkward angle on the very edge of her narrow bed, and he moved his arms in a strange way when he saw her looking, trying to hide the fact that his clothes were stained with blood.

She narrowed her eyes at him, hoping that if she were fierce enough about it, he would give in and be honest.  “What happened?  Where did you go?  I deserve to know what you've been doing to get yourself so bloody.”

Rumpelstiltskin thought about chiding her and changing the subject like he often did, but he knew he was partly to blame for her fears in the first place.  He conjured a handkerchief and sighed heavily.  “I required the limbs and antlers from a young buck this particular endeavor.  They can be tricky beasts, but I retrieved it and the needy party is satisfied.  In fact, it was just as I received their payment that I heard you, Belle.  You called my name in your sleep and I hurried back.” 

Belle felt embarrassed that she had been so fervently begging for his help in her sleep that he had gotten the message however far away he had been.  Sometimes magic was incredibly humiliating even while it was useful.  “Did I disturb you?”

“My line of work requires me to not be easily disturbed.”  He tousled her hair a little, hoping it would prove to her that he was in a good mood.  “It’s fine.  I’m glad I came back, I hadn't wanted to leave in the first place.”  It was true, he had had to physically tear himself away from her at the table earlier and now, at her bedside, the thought that he would have to leave her alone again was agony.

“Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

Rumpelstiltskin smiled.  “I’ll do more than that!”  With ease, he picked her up and stood, blithely, without any strain at all.  He was rocking her again, and in such a tender way that she laid her head against his shoulder and felt quite at home.

After the initial surprise of being picked up, Belle chuckled at the ridiculousness of it all.  “Well, if that's how it's going to be, can you sing me back to sleep, too?”

“If you like, dear.”  He remembered a tune his mother had sung when he was small to any child in their village who was sad.  It was a song he had not thought of in a long time, but as the Dark One his memories were clear, and all of his past was very present in his mind.  He cleared his throat and softly began to sing:

_Beware, maiden fair, beware, maiden fair_

_Yonder lies pixies with golden-blue hair_

_They steal all your secrets and smuggle them there_

_Beware - maiden - fair_

_Should you meet the sprites in the wood by the lake_

_Just turn right ‘round swiftly, there’s no time to waste_

_They’ll fill you with wine and they’ll take you to sea_

_So far away, maiden, so distant from me_

_They’ve treasure beyond any man that you know_

_It’s piled so high in a hutch made of gold_

_In springtime they use it to color the bees_

_In autumn they trace it on leaves in the trees_

_I cannot afford to lose such a good friend_

_Dodge pixies round every corner and bend_

_For surely I'd perish should you ever fall_

_Be careful, my lover, please heed your love's call_

_Beware, maiden fair, beware, maiden fair_

_Yonder lies pixies with golden-blue hair_

_They steal all your secrets and smuggle them there_

_Beware - maiden - fair_

When Rumpelstiltskin was done with the song, he saw that Belle had fallen asleep.  He gently placed her back on her bed and tucked her in, as she had done for him one very lonely but glorious night… it was then that he noticed the necklace.  The little spiral shell reminded him of something he couldn’t quite place, but he stared at it, studying it with his magic sight, and he could see her sorrows floating around the pendant with swirls of color, bright and strange.

Gently he reached round to the clasp.  Taking the necklace from round her throat and noting her body relax as it left her skin, Rumpelstiltskin slipped from room, closing the door softly behind him.  He had a strong suspicion that he knew the origin of the shell, and took it up to his private chambers to examine it more closely and to test its strength with spells.  If he was right, he was going to have a very nasty surprise for a particularly ruthless witch.


End file.
